The Project Gutenberg Etext of Seven Wives and Seven Prisons
by L.A. Abbott

Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
this or any other Project Gutenberg file.

Please do not remove this header information.

This header should be the first thing seen when anyone starts to
view the eBook. Do not change or edit it without written permission.
The words are carefully chosen to provide users with the information
needed to understand what they may and may not do with the eBook.
To encourage this, we have moved most of the information to the end,
rather than having it all here at the beginning.


**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**

**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**

*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****

Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get eBooks, and
further information, is included below.  We need your donations.

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3)
organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541
Find out about how to make a donation at the bottom of this file.


Title: Seven Wives and Seven Prisons

Author: L.A. Abbott

Release Date: November, 2003  [Etext #4667]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on February 26, 2002]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

The Project Gutenberg Etext of Seven Wives and Seven Prisons
by L.A. Abbott
******This file should be named svnwv10.txt or svnwv10.zip******

Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, svnwv11.txt
VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, svnwv10a.txt

Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US
unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we usually do not
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

The "legal small print" and other information about this book
may now be found at the end of this file.  Please read this
important information, as it gives you specific rights and
tells you about restrictions in how the file may be used.

***
This etext was created by Charles Aldarondo (Aldarondo@yahoo.com).



SEVEN WIVES AND SEVEN PRISONS:

OR EXPERIENCES IN THE LIFE OF A
MATRIMONIAL MANIAC. A TRUE STORY.

WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.

NEW YORK:

PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR. 1870.






CONTENTS





CHAPTER 1. THE FIRST AND WORST WIFE My Early History. The First
Marriage. Leaving Home to Prospect. Sending for My Wife. Her
Mysterious Journey. Where I Found Her. Ten Dollars for Nothing. A
Fascinating Hotel Clerk. My Wife's Confession. From Bad to Worse.
Final Separation. Trial for Forgery. A Private Marriage. Summary
Separation.

CHAPTER II. MISERIES FROM MY SECOND MARRIAGE. Love-Making in
Massachusetts. Arrest for Bigamy. Trial at Northampton. A Stunning
Sentence. Sent to State Prison. Learning the Brush Business.
Sharpening Picks. Prison Fare. In the Hospital. Kind Treatment.
Successful Horse-Shoeing. The Warden my Friend. Efforts for my
Release. A Full Pardon.

CHAPTER III. THE SCHEIMER SENSATION. The Scheimer Family. In Love
With Sarah. Attempt to Elope. How it was Prevented. Second Attempt.
A Midnight Expedition. The Alarm. A Frightful Beating. Escape,
Flogging the Devil out of Sarah. Return to New Jersey. "Boston
Yankee." Plans to Secure Sarah.

CHAPTER IV. SUCCESS WITH SARAH. Mary Smith as a Confederate. The
Plot. Waiting in the Woods. The Spy Outwitted. Sarah Secured. The
Pursuers Baffled. Night on the Road. Efforts to Get Married. "The
Old Offender." Married at Last. A Constable after Sarah. He Gives it
Up. An Ale Orgie. Return to "Boston Yankee's." A Home in Goshen.

CHAPTER V. HOW THE SCHEIMERS MADE ME SUFFER. Return to Scheimer's.
Peace, and then Pandemonium. Frightful Family Row. Running for
Refuge. The Gang Again. Arrest at Midnight. Struggle with my
Captors. In Jail Once More. Put in Irons. A Horrible Prison.
Breaking Out. The Dungeon. Sarah's Baby. . Curious Compromises. Old
Scheimer my Jailer. Signing a Bond. Free Again. Last Words from
Sarah.

CHAPTER VI. FREE LIFE AND FISHING. Taking Care of Crazy Men.
Carrying off a Boy. Arrested for Stealing my Own Horse and Buggy.
Fishing in Lake Winnepisiogee. An Odd Landlord. A Woman as Big as a
Hogshead. Reducing the Hogshead to a Barrel. Wonderful Verification
of a Dream. Successful Medical Practice. A Busy Winter in New
Hampshire. Blandishments of Captain Brown. I go to Newark, New
Jersey.

CHAPTER VII. WEDDING A WIDOW AND THE CONSEQUENCES. I Marry a Widow.
Six Weeks of Happiness. Confiding a Secret, and the Consequences.
The Widow's Brother. Sudden Flight from Newark. In Hartford, Conn.
My Wife's Sister Betrays Me. Trial for Bigamy. Sentenced to Ten
Years' Imprisonment. I Become a "Bobbin Boy." A Good Friend.
Governor Price Visits me in Prison. He Pardons Me. Ten Years'
Sentence Fulfilled in Seven Months.

CHAPTER VIII. ON THE KEEN SCENT. Good Resolutions. Enjoying Freedom.
Going After a Crazy Man. The Old Tempter in a New Form. Mary Gordon.
My New "Cousin." Engaged Again. Visit to the Old Folks at Home.
Another Marriage. Starting for Ohio. Change of Plans. Domestic
Quarrels. Unpleasant Stories about Mary. Bound Over to Keep the
Peace. Another Arrest for Bigamy. A Sudden Flight. Secreted Three
Weeks in a Farm House. Recaptured at Concord. Escaped Once More.
Traveling on the Underground Railroad. In Canada.

CHAPTER IX. MARRYING TWO MILLINERS. Back in Vermont. Fresh
Temptations. Margaret Bradley. Wine and Women. A Mock Marriage in
Troy. The False Certificate. Medicine and Millinery. Eliza Gurnsey.
A Spree at Saratoga. Marrying Another Milliner. Again Arrested for
Bigamy. In Jail Eleven Months. A Tedious Trial. Found Guilty. Appeal
to Supreme Court. Trying to Break Out of Jail. A Governor's Promise.
Second Trial. Sentenced to Three Years' Imprisonment.

CHAPTER X. PRISON LIFE IN VERMONT. Entering Prison. The Scythe Snath
Business. Blistered Hands. I Learn Nothing. Threaten to Kill the
Shop Keeper. Locksmithing. Open Rebellion. Six Weeks in the Dungeon.
Escape of a Prisoner. In the Dungeon Again. The Mad Man Hall. He
Attempts to Murder the Deputy. I Save Morey's Life. Howling in the
Black Hole. Taking Off Hall's Irons. A Ghastly Spectacle. A Prison
Funeral. I am Let Alone. The Full Term of my Imprisonment.

CHAPTER XI. ON THE TRAMP. The Day of my Deliverance. Out of Clothes.
Sharing with a Beggar. A Good Friend. Tramping Through the Snow.
Weary Walks. Trusting to Luck. Comfort at Concord. At Meredith
Bridge. The Blaisdells. Last of the "Blossom" Business. Making Money
at Portsmouth. Revisiting Windsor. An Astonished Warden. Making
Friends of Enemies. Inspecting the Prison. Going to Port Jervis.

CHAPTER XII. ATTEMPT TO KIDNAP SARAH SCHEIMER'S BOY. Starting to See
Sarah. The Long Separation. What I Learned About Her. Her Drunken
Husband. Change of Plan. A Suddenly-Formed Scheme. I Find Sarah's
Son. The First Interview. Resolve to Kidnap the Boy. Remonstrance of
my Son Henry. The Attempt. A Desperate Struggle. The Rescue. Arrest
of Henry. My Flight into Pennsylvania. Sending Assistance to my Son.
Return to Port Jervis. Bailing Henry. His Return to Belvidere. He is
Bound Over to be Tried for Kidnapping. My folly.

CHAPTER XIII. ANOTHER WIDOW. Waiting for the Verdict. My Son Sent to
State Prison. What Sarah Would Have Done. Interview with my First
Wife. Help for Henry. The Biddeford Widow. Her Effort to Marry Me.
Our Visit to Boston. A Warning. A Generous Gift. Henry Pardoned.
Close of the Scheimer Account. Visit to Ontario County. My Rich
Cousins. What Might Have Been. My Birthplace Revisited.

CHAPTER XIV. MY SON TRIES TO MURDER ME. Settling Down in Maine.
Henry's Health. Tour Through the South. Secession Times. December in
New Orleans. Up the Mississippi. Leaving Henry in Massachusetts.
Back in Maine Again. Return to Boston, Profitable Horse-Trading.
Plenty of Money. My First Wife's Children. How they Have Been
Brought Up. A Barefaced Robbery. Attempt to Blackmail Me. My Son
Tries to Rob and Kill Me. My Rescue Last of the Young Man.

CHAPTER XV. A TRUE WIFE AND HOME AT LAST. Where Were All my Wives?
Sense of Security. An Imprudent Acquaintance. Moving from Maine. My
Property in Rensselaer County. How I Lived. Selling a Recipe. About
Buying a Carpet. Nineteen Lawsuits. Sudden Departure for the West. A
Vagabond Life for Two Years. Life in California. Return to the East.
Divorce from any First Wife. A Genuine Marriage. My Farm. Home at
Last.






SEVEN WIVES AND SEVEN PRISONS

CHAPTER I.

THE FIRST AND WORST WIFE

My Early History-THE FIRST MARRIAGE-LEAVING HOME TO PROSPECT-SENDING
FOR MY WIFE-HER MYSTERIOUS JOURNEY-WHERE I FOUND HER-TEN DOLLARS FOR
NOTHING-A FASCINATING HOTEL CLERK-MY WIFE'S CONFESSION-FROM BAD TO
WORSE-FINAL SEPARATION-TRIAL FOR FORGERY-A PRIVATE MARRIAGE-SUMMARY
SEPARATION.





SOME one has said that if any man would faithfully write his
autobiography, giving truly his own history and experiences, the
ills and joys, the haps and mishaps that had fallen to his lot, he
could not fail to make an interesting story; and Disraeli makes
Sidonia say that there is romance in every life. How much romance,
as well as sad reality, there is in the life of a man who, among
other experiences, has married seven wives, and has been seven times
in prison-solely on account of the seven wives, may be learned from
the pages that follow.

I was born in the town of Chatham, Columbia County, New York, in
September, 1813. My father was a New Englander, who married three
times, and I was the eldest son of his third wife, a woman of Dutch
descent, or, as she would have boosted if she had been rich, one of
the old Knickerbockers of New York. My parents were simply honest,
hard-working, worthy people, who earned a good livelihood, brought
up their children to work, behaved themselves, and were respected by
their neighbors. They had a homestead and a small farm of thirty
acres, and on the place was a blacksmith shop in which my father
worked daily, shoeing horses and cattle for farmers and others who
came to the shop from miles around.

There were three young boys of us at home, and we had a chance to go
to school in the winter, while during the summer we worked on the
little farm and did the "chores" about the house and barn. But by
the time I was twelve years old I began to blow and strike in the
blacksmith shop, and when I was sixteen years old I could shoe
horses well, and considered myself master of the trade. At the age
of eighteen, I went into business with my father, and as I was now
entitled to a share of the profits, I married the daughter of a
well-to-do neighboring farmer, and we began our new life in part of
my father's house, setting up for ourselves, and doing our own
house-keeping.

I ought to have known then that marrying thus early in life, and
especially marrying the woman I did, was about the most foolish
thing I could do. I found it out afterwards, and was frequently and
painfully reminded of it through many long years. But all seemed
bright enough at the start. My wife was a good-looking woman of just
my own age; her family was most respectable; two of her brothers
subsequently became ministers of the gospel; and all the children
had been carefully brought up. I was thought to have made a good
match; but a few years developed that had wedded a most unworthy
woman.

Seventeen months after our marriage, our oldest child, Henry, was
born. Meanwhile we had gone to Sidney, Delaware County, where my
father opened a shop. I still continued in business with him, and
during our stay at Sidney, my daughter, Elizabeth, was born. From
Sidney, my father wanted to go to Bainbridge, Chenango, County, N.Y.,
and I went with him, leaving my wife and the children at Sidney,
while we prospected. As usual my father started a blacksmith-shop;
but I bought a hundred acres of timber land, went to lumbering, and
made money. We had a house about four miles from the village, I
living with my father, and as soon as found out that we were doing
well in business, I sent to Sidney for my wife and children. They
were to come by stage, and were due, after passing through
Bainbridge, at our house at four o'clock in the morning. We were up
early to meet the stage; but when it arrived, the driver told us
that my wife had stopped at the public house in Bainbridge.

Wondering what this could mean, I at once set out with my brother
and walked over to the village. It was daylight when we arrived, and
knocked loudly at the public house door. After considerable delay,
the clerk came to the door and let us in. He also asked as to "take
something," which we did. The clerk knew us well, and I inquired if
my wife was in the house; he said she was, told us what room she was
in, and we went up stairs and found her in bed with her children.
Waking her, I asked her why she did not come home, in the stage? She
replied that the clerk down stairs told her that the stage did not
go beyond the house, and that she expected to walk over, as soon as
it was daylight, or that possibly we might come for her.

I declare, I was so young and unsophisticated that I suspected
nothing, and blamed only the stupidity, as I supposed, of the clerk
in telling her that the stage did not go beyond Bainbridge. My wife
got up and dressed herself and the children, and then as it was
broad daylight, after endeavoring, ineffectually, to get a
conveyance, we started for home on foot, she leading the little boy,
and I carrying the youngest child. We were not far on our way when
she suddenly stopped, stooped down, and exclaimed:

"O! see what I have found in the road."

And she showed me a ten dollar bill. I was quite surprised, and
verdantly enough, advised looking around for more money, which my
wife, brother and I industriously did for some minutes. It was full
four weeks before I found out where that ten dollar bill came from.
Meanwhile, my wife was received and was living in her new home,
being treated with great kindness by all of us. It was evident,
however, that she had something on her mind which troubled her, and
one morning, about a month after her arrival, I found her in tears.
I asked her what was the matter? She said that she had been
deceiving me; that she did not pick up the ten dollar bill in the
road; but that it was given to her by the clerk in the public house
in Bainbridge; only, however, for this: he had grossly insulted her;
she had resented it, and he had given her the money, partly as a
reparation, and partly to prevent her from speaking of the insult to
me or to others.

But by this time my hitherto blinded eyes were opened, and I charged
her with being false to me. She protested she had not been; but
finally confessed that she had been too intimate with the clerk at
the hotel. I began a suit at law against the clerk; but finally, on
account of my wife's family and for the sake of my children, I
stopped proceedings, the clerk paying the costs of the suit as far
as it had gone, and giving me what I should probably have got from
him in the way of damages. My wife too, was apparently so penitent,
and I was so much infatuated with her, that I forgave her, and even
consented to continue to live with her. But I removed to Greenville,
Greene County, N. Y., where I went into the black-smithing business,
and was very successful. We lived here long enough to add two
children to our little family; but as time went on, the woman became
bad again, and displayed the worst depravity. I could no longer live
with her, and we finally mutually agreed upon a life-long
separation--she insisting upon keeping the children, and going to
Rochester where she subsequently developed the full extent of her
character.

This, as nearly as I remember, was in the year 1838, and with this
came a new trouble upon me. Just before the separation, I received
from my brother's wife a note for one hundred dollars, and sold it.
It proved to be a forgery. I was temporarily in Troy, N. Y., when
the discovery was made, and as I made no secret of my whereabouts at
any time, I was followed to Troy, was there arrested, and after
lying in jail at Albany one night, was taken next morning to
Coxsackie, Greene County, and front thence to Catskill. After one
day in jail there, I was brought before a justice and examined on
the charge of uttering a forged note. There was a most exciting
trial of four days duration. I had two good lawyers who did their
best to show that I did not know the note to be forged when I sold
it, but the justice seemed determined to bind me over for trial, and
he did so, putting me under five hundred dollars' bonds. My
half-sister at Sidney was sent for, came to Catskill, and became
bail for me. I was released, and my lawyers advised me to leave,
which I did at once, and went to Pittsfield, and from there to
Worthington, Mass., where I had another half-sister, who was married
to Mr. Josiah Bartlett, and was well off.

Here I settled down, for all that I knew to the contrary, for life.
For some years past, I had devoted my leisure hours from the forge
to the honest endeavor to make up for the deficiencies in my
youthful education, and had acquired, among other things, a good
knowledge of medicine. I did not however, believe in any of the
"schools" particularly those schools that make use of mineral
medicines in their practice. I favored purely vegetable remedies,
and had been very successful in administering them. So I began life
anew, in Worthington, as a Doctor, and aided by my half-sister and
her friends, I soon secured a remunerative practice.

I was beginning to be truly happy. I supposed that the final
separation, mutually agreed upon between my wife and myself, was as
effectual as all the courts in the country could make it, and I
looked upon myself as a free man. Accordingly, after I had been in
Worthington some months I began to pay attentions to the daughter of
a flourishing farmer. She was a fine girl; she received my addresses
favorably, and we were finally privately married. This was the
beginning of my life-long troubles. In a few weeks her father found
out that I had been previously married, and was not, so far as he
knew, either a divorced man or a widower. And so it happened, that
one day when I was at his house, and with his daughter, he suddenly
came home with a posse of people and a warrant for my arrest. I was
taken before a justice, and while we were waiting for proceedings to
begin, or, possibly for the justice to arrive, I took the excited
father aside and said:

"You know I have a fine horse and buggy at the door. Get in with me,
and ride down home. I will see your daughter and make everything
right with her, and if you will let me run away, I'll give her her
the horse and buggy."

The offer was too tempting to be refused. The father had the warrant
in his pocket, and he accepted my proposal. We rode to his house,
and he went into the back-room by direction of his daughter while
she and I talked in the hall. I explained matters as well as I
could; I promised to see her again, and that very soon. My horse and
buggy were at the door. Hastily bidding my new and young wife
"good-bye," I sprang into the buggy and drove rapidly away. The
father rushed to the door and raised a great hue and cry, and what
was more, raised the neighbors; I had not driven five miles before
all Worthington was after me. But I had the start, the best horse,
and I led in the race. I drove to Hancock, N.Y., where my pursuers
lost the trail; thence to Bennington, Vt., next to Brattleboro, Vt.,
and from there to Templeton, Mass. What befel me at Templeton, shall
be related in the next chapter.






CHAPTER II.

MISERIES FROM MY SECOND MARRIAGE.

LOVE-MAKING IN MASSACHUSETTS-ARREST FOR BIGAMY-TRIAL AT
NORTHAMPTON-A STUNNING SENTENCE-SENT TO STATE PRISON-LEARNING THE
BRUSH BUSINESS-SHARPENING PICKS-PRISON FARE-IN THE HOSPITAL-KIND
TREATMENT-SUCCESSFUL HORSE SHOEING-THE WARDEN MY FRIEND-EFFORTS FOR
MY RELEASE-A FULL PARDON.





At Templeton I speedily made known my profession, and soon had a
very good medical practice which one or two "remarkable cures"
materially increased. I was doing well and making money. I boarded
in a respectable farmer's family, and after living there about six
months there came another most unhappy occurrence. From the day,
almost, when I began to board with this farmer there sprung up a
strong attachment between myself and his youngest daughter which
soon ripened into mutual love. She rode about with me when I went to
see my patients, who were getting to be numerous, and we were much
in each other's company.

On one occasion she accompanied me to Worcester where I had some
patients. We went to a public house where she and her family were
well known, and when she was asked by the landlord how she happened
to come there with the doctor, her prompt answer was:

"Why, we are married; did'nt you know it?"

She refused even to go to the table without my attendance, and when
I was out visiting some patients, she waited for her meals till I
came back. We stayed there but two days and returned together to
Templeton.

A month afterward her brother was in Worcester, and stopped at this
house. The landlord, after some conversation about general matters,
said:

"So your sister is married to the Doctor?"

"I know nothing about it," was the reply.

This led to a full and altogether too free disclosure to the
astonished brother about the particulars of our visit to the same
house a month before, and his sister's representations that we were
married. The brother immediately started for home, and repeated the
story, as it was told to him, to his father and the family. Without
seeing his daughter, the father at once procured a warrant, and had
me arrested and brought before a justice on charge of seduction.
The trial was brief; the daughter herself swore positively, that
though she had been imprudent and indiscreet in going to Worcester
with me, no improper communication had ever, there or elsewhere,
taken place between us.

Of course, there was nothing to do but to let me go and I was
discharged. But out of this affair came the worst that had yet
fallen to my lot in life. The story got into the papers, with
particulars and names of the parties, and in this way the people at
Worthington, who had chased me as far as Hancock and had there lost
all trace of me, found out where I was. If I had been aware of it,
they might have looked elsewhere for me; but while I was
felicitating myself upon my escape from the latest difficulty, down
came an officer from Worthington with a warrant for my arrest. This
officer, the sheriff, was connected with the family into which I had
married in Worthington, and with him came two or three more
relatives, all bound, as they boasted, to "put me through." They
were excessively irate against me and very much angered, especially
that their race after me to Hancock had been fruitless. I had fallen
into the worst possible hands.

They took me to Northampton and brought me before a Justice, on a
charge of bigamy: The sheriff who arrested me, and the relatives who
accompanied him were willing to swear my life away, if they could,
and the justice was ready enough to bind me over to take my trial in
court, which was not to be in session for full six months to come.
Those long, weary six months I passed in the county jail. Then came
my trial. I had good counsel. There was not a particle of proof that
I was guilty of bigamy; no attempt was made on the part of the
prosecution to produce my first wife, from whom I had separated, or,
indeed, to show that there was such a woman in existence. But,
evidence or no evidence, with all Worthington against me, conviction
was inevitable. The jury found me guilty. The judge promptly
sentenced me to three years' imprisonment in the State Prison, at
Charlestown, with hard labor, the first day to be passed in solitary
confinement.

This severe sentence fairly stunned me. I was taken back to jail,
and the following day I was conveyed to Charlestown with heavy irons
on my ankles and handcuffed. No murderer would have been more
heavily ironed. We started early in the morning, and by noon I was
duly delivered to the warden at Charlestown prison. I was taken into
the office, measured, asked my name, age, and other particulars, and
then if I had a trade. To this I at once answered, "no." I wanted my
twenty-four hours' solitary confinement in which to reflect upon the
kind of "hard labor," prescribed in my sentence, I was willing to
follow for the next three years; and I also wanted information about
the branches of labor pursued in that prison. The next words of the
warden assured me that he was a kind and compassionate man.

"Go," he said to an officer, "and instantly take off those irons
when you take him inside the prison."

I was taken in and the irons were taken off. I was then undressed,
my clothes were removed to another room, and I was redressed in the
prison uniform. This was a grotesque uniform indeed. The suit was
red and blue, half and half, like a harlequin's, and to crown all
came a hat or cap, like a fool's cap, a foot and a half high and
running up to a peak. Miserable as I was, I could scarcely help
smiling at the utterly absurd appearance I knew I then presented. I
even ventured to remark upon it; but was suddenly and sternly
checked with the command:

"Silence! There's no talking allowed here."

Then began my twenty-four hours' solitary confinement, and
twenty-four wretched hours they were. I had only bread and water to
eat and drink, and I need not say that my unhappy thoughts would not
permit me to sleep. At noon next day I was taken from my cell, and
brought again before the warden, Mr. Robinson, who kindly said:

"You have no trade, you say; what do you want to go to work at?"

"Anything light; I am not used to hard labor," I replied.

So the warden directed that I should be put at work in the brush
shop, where all kinds of brushes were made. Mr. Eddy was the officer
in charge of this shop, and Mr. Knowles, the contractor for the
labor employed in the brush business, was present. Both of these
gentlemen took pains to instruct me in the work I was to begin upon,
and were very kind in their manner towards me. I went to work in a
bungling way and with a sad and heavy heart. At 12 o'clock we were
marched from the shop to our cells, each man taking from a trap in
the wall, as he went by, his pan containing his dinner, which
consisted, that day, of boiled beef and potatoes. It was probably
the worst dinner I had ever eaten, but I had yet to learn what
prison fare was. From one o'clock to six I was in the shop again;
then came Supper-mush and molasses that evening which was varied, as
I learned afterwards, on different days by rye bread, or Indian
bread and rye coffee. These things were also served for breakfast,
and the dinners were varied on different days in the week. The fare
was very coarse, always, but abundant and wholesome. After supper
prisoners were expected to go to bed, as they were called out at six
o'clock in the morning.

I stayed in the brush shop three or four months, but I made very
little progress in learning the trade. I was willing enough to learn
and did my best. From the day I entered the prison I made up my mind
to behave as well as I could; to be docile and obedient, and to
comply with every rule and order. Consequently I had no trouble, and
the officers all treated me kindly. Warden Robinson was a model man
for his position. He believed that prisoners could be reformed more
easily by mild than by harsh measures--at least they would be more
contented with their lot and would be subordinate. Every now and
then he would ask prisoners if they were well treated by the
officers; how they were getting on; if they had enough to eat, and
so on. The officers seemed imbued with the warden's spirit; the
chaplain of the prison, who conducted the Sunday, services and also
held a Sunday school, was one of the finest men in the world, and
took a personal interest in every prisoner. Altogether, it was a
model institution. But in spite of good treatment I was intensely
miserable; my mind was morbid; I was nearly, if not quite, insane;
and one day during the dinner hour, I opened a vein in each arm in
hopes that I should bleed to death. Bleed I did, till I fainted
away, and as I did not come out when the other prisoners did, the
officer came to my cell and discovered my condition. He at once sent
for the Doctor who came and stopped the hemorrhage, and then sent me
to the hospital where I remained two weeks.

After I came out of the hospitals the Warden talked to me about my
situation and feelings. He advised me to go into the blacksmith
shop, of course not dreaming that I knew anything of the work; but
he said I would have more liberty there; that the men moved about
freely and could talk to each other; that the work mainly was
sharpening picks and tools, and that I could at least blow and
strike. So I went into the blacksmith shop, and remained their six
weeks. But, debilitated as I was, the work was too hard for me, and
so the warden put me in the yard to do what I could. I also swept
the halls and assisted in the cook-room. One day when the warden
spoke to me, I told him that I knew something about taking care of
the sick, and after some conversation, he transferred me to the
hospital as a nurse.

Here, if there is such a things as contentment in prison, I was
comparatively happy. I nursed the sick and administered medicines
under direction of the doctor. I had too, with all easy position,
more liberty than any other prisoner. I could go anywhere about the
halls and yard, and in a few weeks I was frequently sent on an
errand into the town. Everyone seemed to have the fullest confidence
in me. The Warden talked to me whenever he saw me, and always had
some kind word for me. One day I ventured to speak to him about his
horse, of which he was very proud, and indeed the horse was a very
fine one.

Mr. Warden, said I "that's a noble horse of yours; but he interferes
badly, and that is only because he is badly shod. If you will
trust me, I can shoe him so as to prevent all that."

"Can you?" exclaimed the Warden in great surprise; "Well, if you
can, I'll give you a good piece of bread and butter, or, anything
else you want."

"I don't want your bread and butter," said I "but I will shoe your
horse as he has never been shod before."

"Well take the horse to the shop and see what you can do."

Of course, I knew that by "bread and butter" the warden meant that
if I could shoe his favorite horse so as to prevent him from
interfering, he would gladly favor me as far as he could; and I
knew, too, that I could make as good a shoe as any horse need wear.
I gladly led the horse to the shop where I had so signally failed in
pick and tool sharpening, and was received with jeers by my old
comrades who wanted to know what I was going to do to that horse.

"O, simply shoe him," I said.

This greatly increased the mirth of my former shopmates; but their
amusement speedily changed to amazement as they saw me make my
nails, turn the shoes and neatly put them on. In due time the horse
was shod, and I led him to the Warden for inspection; and before him
and an officer who stood by him, I led the horse up and down to show
that he did not interfere. The Warden's delight was unbounded; he
never saw such a set of shoes; he declared that they fitted as if
they had grown to the horse's hoofs. I need not say that from that
day till the day I left the prison, I had everything I wanted from
the Warden's own table; I fared as well as he did, and had favors
innumerable.

About once a month I shod that horse, little thinking that he was to
carry me over my three years' imprisonment in just half that time.
Yet so it was. For talking now almost daily, in the hospital or in
the yard, with the Warden, he became interested in me, and in answer
to his inquiries I told him the whole story of my persecution, as I
considered it, my trial and my unjust and severe sentence. When he
had heard all he said:

"You ought not to be here another day; you ought to go out."

The good chaplain also interested himself in my case, and after
hearing the story, he and the Warden took a lawyer named Bemis, into
their counsel, laid the whole matter before him and asked his
opinion. Mr. Bemis, after hearing all the circumstances, expressed
the belief that I might get a pardon. He entered into the matter
with his whole heart. He sent for my son Henry and my first wife,
and they came and corroborated my statement about the mutual
agreement for separation, and told how long we had been parted. Mr.
Bemis and they then went to Governor Briggs, and told him the story,
and that I had served out half of my severe sentence, and pressed
for a pardon. The Governor after due deliberation consented to their
request. They came back to Charlestown with the joyful intelligence.
Warden Robinson advised my son, that considering my present mental
and physical condition, he had better break the intelligence
gradually to me, and so Henry came to me and said, simply, that he
thought he would soon have "good news" for me. The next day I was
told that my pardon was certain. The day following, at 12 o'clock, I
walked out, after eighteen months' imprisonment, a free man. I was
in the streets of Charlestown with my own clothes on and five
dollars, given to me by the Warden, in my pocket, I was poor, truly,
but I was at liberty, and that for the day was enough.






CHAPTER III.

THE SCHEIMER SENSATION.

THE SCHEIMER FAMILY-IN LOVE WITH SARAH-ATTEMPT TO ELOPE-HOW IT WAS
PREVENTED-THE SECOND ATTEMPT-A MIDNIGHT EXPEDITION-THE ALARM-A
FRIGHTFUL BEATING-ESCAPE-FLOGGING THE DEVIL OUT OF SARAH-WINTER IN
NEW HAMPSHIRE-RETURN TO NEW JERSEY-"BOSTON YANKEE"-PLANS TO SECURE
SARAH.





I went at once to the Prisoners Home, where I was kindly received,
and I stayed there two days. The superintendent then paid my passage
to Pittsfield where I wished to go and meet my son. From Pittsfield
I went to Albany, then New York, and from there to Newtown N. J.
Here I went into practice, meeting with almost immediate success,
and staid there two months. It was my habit to go from town to town
to attend to cases of a certain class and to sell my vegetable
preparations; and from Newtown I went to Belvidere, stopping at
intermediate towns on the way, and from Belvidere I went to Harmony,
a short distance below, to attend a case of white swelling, which I
cured.

Now just across the Delaware river, nine miles above Easton,
Penn., lived a wealthy Dutch farmer, named Scheimer, who heard of
the cure I had effected in Harmony, and as he had a son, sixteen
years of age, afflicted in the same way, he sent for me to come and
see him. I crossed the river, saw the boy, and at Scheimer's request
took up my residence with him to attend to the case. He was to give
me, with my board, five hundred dollars if I cured the boy; but
though the boy recovered under my treatment, I never received my fee
for reasons which will appear anon. I secured some other practice in
the neighborhood, and frequently visited Easton, Belvidere, Harmony,
Oxford, and other near by places, on either side of the river.

The Scheimer family consisted of the "old folks" and four sons and
four daughters, the children grown up, for my patient, sixteen years
old, was the youngest. The youngest daughter, Sarah, eighteen years
old, was an accomplished and beautiful girl. Now it would seem as if
with my sad experience I ought by this time, to have turned my back
on women forever. But I think I was a monomaniac on the subject of
matrimony. My first wife had so misused me that it was always in my
mind that some reparation was due me, and that I was fairly entitled
to a good helpmate. The ill-success of my efforts, hitherto, to
secure one, and my consequent sufferings were all lost upon
me--experience, bitter experience, had taught me nothing.

I had not been in the Scheimer family three months before I fell in
love with the daughter Sarah and she returned my passion. She
promised to marry me, but said there was no use in saying anything
to her parents about it; they would never consent on account of the
disparity in our ages, for I was then forty years old; but she would
marry me nevertheless, if we had to run away together. Meanwhile,
the old folks had seen enough of our intimacy to suspect that it
might lead to something yet closer, and one day Mr. Scheimer invited
me to leave his house and not to return. I asked for one last
interview with Sarah, which was accorded, and we then arranged a
plan by which she should meet me the next afternoon at four o'clock
at the Jersey ferry, a mile below the house, when we proposed to
quietly cross over to Belvidere and get married. I then took leave
of her and the family and went away.

The next day, at the appointed time, I was at the ferry--Sarah, as I
learned afterwards, left the house at a much earlier hour to "take a
walk" and while she was, foolishly I think, making a circuitous
route to reach the ferry, her father, who suspected that she
intended to run away, went to the ferryman and told him his
suspicions, directing him if Sarah came there by no means to permit
her to cross the river. Consequently when Sarah met me at the ferry,
the ferryman flatly refused to let either of us go over. He knew all
about it, he said, and it was "no go." I had two hundred dollars in
my pocket and I offered him any reasonable sum, if he would only let
us cross; but no, he knew the Scheimers better than he knew me, and
their goodwill was worth more than mine. Here was a block to the
game, indeed. I had sent my baggage forward in the morning to
Belvidere; Sarah had nothing but the clothes she wore, for she was
so carefully watched that she could carry or send nothing away; but
she was ready to go if the obstinate ferryman had not prevented us.

While we were pressing the ferryman to favor us, down came one of
Sarah's brothers with a dozen neighbors, and told her she must
return home or he would carry her back by force. I interfered and
said she should not go. Whereupon one fellow took hold of me and I
promptly knocked him down, and notified the crowd that the first who
laid hands on me, or who attempted to take her home violently, would
get a dose from my pistol which I then exhibited:

"Sarah must go willingly or not at all," said I.

The production of my pistol, the only weapon in the crowd, brought
about a new state of affairs, and the brother and others tried
persuasion; but Sarah stoutly insisted that she would not return.
"Now hold on," boys, said I, "I am going to say something to her." I
then took her aside and told her that there was no use in trying to
run away then; that she had better go home quietly, and tell the
folks that she was sorry for what she had done, that she had broken
off with me, and would have nothing more to do with me; that I would
surely see her to-morrow, and then we could make a new plan. So she
announced her willingness to go quietly home with her brother and
she did so. I went to a public house half a mile below the ferry.
That night the gang came down to this house with the intention of
driving me away from the place, or, possibly, of doing something
worse; but while they were howling outside, the landlord sent me to
my room and then went out and told the crowd I had gone away.

The next morning I boldly walked up to Scheimer's house to get a few
books and other things I had left there, and I saw Sarah. I told her
to be ready on the following Thursday night and I would have a
ladder against her window for her to escape by. She promised to be
ready. Meantime, though I had been in the house but a few minutes,
some one who had seen me go in gathered the crowd of the day before,
and the first thing I knew the house was beseiged. Mrs. Scheimer had
gone up stairs for my things. I went out and faced the little mob. I
was told to leave the place or they would kill me. One of Sarah's
brothers ran into the house, brought out a musket and aimed it at
me; but it missed fire. I drew my pistol the crowd keeping well away
then, and told him that if he did not instantly bring that musket to
me I would shoot him. He brought it, and I threw it over the fence,
Sarah crying out from the window, "good! good!" The mob then turned
and abused and blackguarded her. Then the old lady came out,
bringing a carpet bag containing my books and things, asking me to
see if "it was all right." I had no disposition to stop and examine
just then; I told the mob I had no other business there; that I was
going away, and to my surprise, I confess, I was permitted to leave
the place unmolested.

It is quite certain the ferryman made no objection to my crossing,
and I went to Belvidere where I remained quietly till the appointed
Thursday night, when I started with a trusty man for Scheimer's. We
timed our journey so as to arrive there at one o'clock in the
morning. Ever since her attempt to elope, Sarah had been watched
night and day, and to prevent her abduction by me, Mr. Scheimer had
two or three men in the house to stand guard at night. Sarah was
locked in her room, which is precisely what we had provided for, for
no one in the house supposed that she could escape by the window.
There was a big dog on the premises, but he and I were old friends,
and he seemed very glad to see me when I came on the ground on this
eventful night. Sarah was watching, and when I made the signal she
opened the window and threw out her ready prepared bundle. Then my
man and I set the ladder and she came safely to the ground. A moment
more and we would have stolen away, when, as ill luck would have it,
the ladder fell with a great crash, and the infernal dog, that a
moment before seemed almost in our confidence, set up a howl and
then barked loud enough to wake the dead.

Forthwith issued from the house old Scheimer, two of his sons and
his hired guard-a half dozen in all. There was a time then. The girl
was instantly seized and taken into the house. Then all hands fell
upon us two, and though I and my man fought our best they managed to
pound us nearly to death. The dog, too, in revenge no doubt for the
scare the ladder had given him, or perhaps to show his loyalty to
his master, assisted in routing us, and put in a bite where he
could. It is a wonder we were not killed. Sarah, meanwhile, was
calling out from the house, and imploring them not to murder us. How
we ever got away I hardly know now, but presently we found ourselves
in the road running for our lives, and running also for the carriage
we had concealed in the woods, half a mile above. We reached it, and
hastily unhitching and getting in we drove rapidly for the bridge
crossing over to Belvidere. That beautiful August night had very few
charms for us. It would have been different indeed if I had
succeeded in securing my Sarah; and to think of having the prize in
my very grasp, and the losing all!

We reached the hotel in Belvidere at about half-past two o'clock in
the morning, wearied, worn, bruised and disheartened. My man had not
suffered nearly as severely as I had; the bulk of their blows fell
upon me, and I had the sorest body and the worst looking face I had
ever exhibited. I rested one day and then hurried on to New York. Of
course, I had no means of knowing the feelings or condition of the
loved girl from whom I had been so suddenly and so violently parted.
I only learned from an Easton man whom I knew and whom I met in the
city, that "Sarah Scheimer was sick"-that was all; the man said he
did'nt know the family very well, but he had heard that Miss
Scheimer had been "out of her head, if not downright crazy."

Crazy indeed! How mad and how miserable that poor girl was made by
her own family, I did not know till months afterward, and then I had
the terrible story from her own lips. It seems that when her father
and his gang returned from pursuing me, as they did a little way up
the road towards Belvidere, they found her almost frantic. They
locked her up in her room that night with no one to say so much as a
kind word to her. How she passed that night, after the scenes she
had witnessed, and the abuse with which her father and brothers had
loaded her before they thrust her into her prison, may be imagined.
The next day she was wrought up to a frenzy. Her parents pronounced
her insane, and called in a Dutch doctor who examined her and said
she was "bewitched!" And this is the remedy he proposed as a cure;
he advised that she should be soundly flogged, and the devil whipped
out of her. Her family, intensely angered at her for the trouble she
had made them, or rather had caused them to make for themselves,
were only too glad to accept the advice. The old man and two sons
carried a sore bruise or two apiece they got from me the night
before, and seized the opportunity to pay them off upon her. So they
stripped her bare, and flogged her till her back was a mass of welts
and cuts, and then put her to bed. That bed she never left for two
months, and then came out the shadow of her former self. But the
Dutch doctor declared that the devil was whipped out of her, and
that she was entirely cured. A few months afterward the family had
the best of reasons for believing that they had whipped the devil
into her, instead of out of her.

After staying in New York a few days, I went to Dover, N.H., where I
had some acquaintances, and where I hoped to get into a medical
practice, which, with the help of my friends, I did very soon. I
lived quietly in that place all winter, earning a good living and
laying by some money. During the whole time I never heard a word
from Sarah. I wrote at least fifty letters to her, but as I learned
afterward, and, indeed, surmised at the time, every one of them was
intercepted by her father or brothers, and she did not know where I
was and so could not write to me. I left Dover in May and went down
to New York. I had some business there which was soon transacted,
and early in June I went over to New Jersey-to Oxford, a small place
near Belvidere.

This place I meant to make my base of operations for the new
campaign I had been planning all winter. I "put up" at a public
house kept by a man who was known in the region round about as the
"Boston Yankee," for he migrated from Boston to New Jersey and was
doing a thriving business at hotel keeping in Oxford. What a
thorough good-fellow he was will presently appear. I had been in the
hotel four days and had become pretty intimate with the landlord
before I ventured to make inquiries about what I was most anxious to
learn; but finally I asked him if he knew the Scheimers over the
river? He looked at me in a very comical way, and then broke out:

"Well, I declare, I thought I knew you, you're the chap that tried
to run away with old Scheimer's daughter Sarah, last August; and
you're down here to get her this time, if you can."

I owned up to my identity, but warned Boston Yankee that if he told
any one who I was, or that I was about there, I'd blow his brains
out.

"You keep cool," said he, "don't you be uneasy; I'm your friend and
the gal's friend, and I'll help you both all I can; and if you want
to carry off Sarah Scheimer and marry her, I'll tell you how to work
it. You see she has been watched as closely as possible all winter,
ever since she got well, for she was crazy-like, awhile. Well, you
could'nt get nearer to her, first off, than you could to the North
Pole; but do you remember Mary Smith who was servant gal, there when
you boarded with Scheimer?" I remembered the girl well and told him
so, and he continued: "Well, I saw her the other day, and she told
me she was living in Easton, and where she could be found; now, I'll
give you full directions and do you take my horse and buggy to-morrow
morning early and go down and see her, and get her to go over and
let Sarah know that you're round; meantime I'll keep dark; I know
my business and you know yours."

I need not say how overjoyed I was to find this new and most
unexpected friend, and how gratefully I accepted his offer. He gave
me the street, house and number where Mary Smith lived and during
the evening we planned together exactly how the whole affair was to
be managed, from beginning to end. I went to bed, but could scarcely
sleep; and all night long I was agitated by alternate hopes and
fears for the success of the scheme of to-morrow.






CHAPTER IV.

SUCCESS WITH SARAH.

MARY SMITH AS A CONFEDERATE-THE PLOT-WAITING IN THE WOODS-THE SPY
OUTWITTED-SARAH SECURED-THE PURSUERS BAFFLED-NIGHT ON THE
ROAD-EFFORTS TO GET MARRIED-THE "OLD OFFENDER" MARRIED AT LAST-A
CONSTABLE AFTER SARAH-HE GIVES IT UP-AN ALE ORGIE-RETURN TO "BOSTON
YANKEE'S"-A HOME IN GOSHEN.





It was Saturday morning, and after an early breakfast I was on the
road with Boston Yankee's fast horse; towards Easton. On my arrival
there I had no difficulty in finding Mary Smith, who recognized me
at once, and was very glad to see me. She knew I had come there to
learn something about Sarah; she had seen her only a week ago; she
was well again, and the girls had talked together about me. This was
pleasant to hear, and I at once proposed to Mary to go to Scheimer's
and tell Sarah that I was there; I would give her ten dollars if she
would go. "O! she would gladly serve us both for nothing."

So she made herself ready, got into the buggy, and we started for
Scheimer's. When we were well on the road I said to her:

"Now, Mary, attend carefully to what I say: you will need to be very
cautious in breaking the news to Sarah that I am here; she has
already suffered a great deal on my account, and may be very timid
about my being in the neighborhood; but if she still loves me as you
say she does, she will run any risk to see me, and, if I know her,
she will be glad to go away with me. Now, this is what you must do;
you must see her alone and tell her my plan; here, take this diamond
ring; she knows it well; manage to let her see it on your finger;
then tell her that if she is willing to leave home and marry me, I
will be in the woods half a mile above her house to-morrow afternoon
at 5 o'clock, with a horse and buggy ready to carry her to
Belvidere. If she will not, or dare not come, give her the ring, and
tell her we part, good friends, forever."

It was a beautiful afternoon as we drove along the road. We talked
about Sarah and old times, and I made her repeat my instructions
over and over again and she promised to convey every word to Sarah.
We neared Scheimer's house about six o'clock, and when we were a
little way from there I told Mary to get out, so as to excite no
suspicions as to who I was; she did so, and I waited till I saw her
go into the house, and then drove rapidly by towards the Belvidere
bridge, and was safely at Oxford by nightfall. I told my friend, the
landlord, what I had done, and he said that everything was well
planned. He also promised to go with me next day to assist me if
necessary, and, said he:

"If everything is all right, do you carry off the girl and I'll walk
up to Belvidere; but don't bring Sarah this way-head toward Water
Gap. When you're married fast and sure, you can come back here as
leisurely as you're a mind to, and nobody can lay a hand upon you or
her."

We arranged some other minor details of our expedition and I went to
bed.

The next afternoon at four o'clock I was at the appointed place, and
Boston Yankee was with me. I did not look for Sarah before five
o'clock, so we tied our horse and kept a good watch upon the road.
An hour went by and no Sarah appeared. I told Boston Yankee I did
not believe she would come.

"Don't be impatient; wait a little longer," said my friend.

In twenty minutes we saw emerge, not from Scheimer's house, but from
his eldest son's house, which was still nearer to the place where we
were waiting, three women, two of whom I recognized as Sarah and
Mary, and the third I did not know, nor could I imagine why she was
with the other two; but as I saw them, leaving Boston Yankee in the
woods, I drove the horse down into the road. As Sarah drew near she
kissed her hand to me and came up to the wagon. "Are you ready to go
with me?" I asked. "I am, indeed," was her reply, and I put out my
hand to help her into the buggy. But the third woman caught hold of
her dress, tried to prevent her from getting in, and began to scream
so as to attract attention at Sarah's brother's house. I told the
woman to let her go, and threatened her with my whip. "Get away,"
shouted Boston Yankee, who had come upon the scene. "Drive as fast
as you can; never mind if you kill the horse."

We started; the woman still shouting for help, and I drove on as
rapidly as the horse would go. When we had gone on a mile or two, I
asked Sarah what all this meant? She told me that the woman was her
brother's servant; that Mary and herself left her father's house a
little after four o'clock to go over and call at her brother's; that
just before five, when she was to meet me, she and Mary proposed to
go out for a walk; that the whole family watched her constantly, and
so her brother's wife told the servant woman to get on her things
and go with them. "You, may be sure," she, added, "that the woman
will arouse the whole neighborhood, and that they will all be after
us." I needed no further hint to push on. We were going toward Water
Gap, as Boston Yankee had advised, and when we were about eight
miles on the way, I deemed it prudent to drive into the woods and to
wait till night before going on. We drove in just off the road, and
tied our horse. We were effectually concealed; our pursuers, if
there were any, would be sure to go by us, and meantime we could
talk over our plans for the future. Sarah told me that when Mary
came to the house the night before, she was not at all surprised to
see her, as she occasionally came up from Easton to make them a
little visit, and to stay all night; that she went to the
summer-house with Mary to sit down and talk, and almost immediately
saw the ring on Mary's finger; that when she saw it she at once
recognized it, and asked her: "O! Mary, where did you get that
ring?" "Keep quiet," said Mary: "don't talk loud, or some one may
hear you; don't be agitated; your lover is near, and has sent me to
tell you." It was joyful news to Sarah, and how readily she had
acquiesced in my plan for an elopement was manifest in the fact that
she was then by my side.

We bad not been in the woods an hour when, as I anticipated, we
heard our pursuers, we did not know how many there were, drive
rapidly by. "Now we can go on, I suppose," said Sarah. "Oh no, my
dear," I replied, "now is just the time to wait quietly here;" and
wait we did till eight o'clock, when our pursuers, having gone on a
few miles, and having seen or learned nothing of the fugitives, came
by again "on the back track." They must have thought we had turned
off into some other road. I waited a while longer to let our
friend's get a little nearer home and further away from us, and then
took the road again toward Water Gap.

We reached Water Gap at midnight, had some supper and fed the horse.
We rested awhile, and then drove leisurely on nine miles further,
where we waited till daylight and crossed the river. We were in no
great hurry now; we were comparatively safe from pursuit. We soon
came to a public house, where we stopped and put out the horse,
intending to take breakfast. While I was inquiring of the landlord
if there was a justice of the peace in the neighborhood, the
landlord's wife had elicited from Sarah the fact of our elopement,
who she was, who her folks were, and so on. The well-meaning
landlady advised Sarah to go back home and get her parents consent
before she married. Sarah suggested that the very impossibility of
getting such consent was the reason for her running away; nor did it
appear how she was to go back home alone even if she desired to. We
saw that we could get no help there, so I countermanded my order for
breakfast, offering at the same time to pay for it as if we had
eaten it, ordered out my horse and drove on. After riding some ten
miles we arrived at another public house on the road, and as the
landlord come out to the door I immediately asked him where I could
find a justice of the peace? He laughed, for he at once comprehended
the whole situation, and said:

"Well, well! I am an old offender myself; I ran away with my wife;
there is a justice of the peace two miles from here, and if you'll
come in I'll have him here within an hour."

We had reached the right place at last, for while the landlady was
getting breakfast for us, and doing her best to make us comfortable
and happy, the Old Offender himself took his horse and carriage and
went for the justice. By the time we had finished our breakfast he
was back with him, and Sarah and I were married in "less than no
time," the Old Offender and his wife singing the certificate as
witnesses. I never paid a fee more gladly. We were married now, and
all the Scheimers in Pennsylvania were welcome to come and see us if
they pleased.

No Scheimers came that day; but the day following came a deputation
from that family, some half dozen delegates, and with them a
constable from Easton, with a warrant to arrest Sarah for
something-I never knew what-but at any rate he was to take her home
if necessary by force. The Old Offender declined to let these people
into his house; Sarah told me to keep out of the way and she would
see what was wanted. Whereupon she boldly went to the door and
greeted those of her acquaintances who were in the party. The
constable knew her, and told her he had come to take her home. "But
what if I refuse to go?" "Well then, I have a warrant to take you;
but if you are married, I have no power over you." Well married I
am, said Sarah, and she produced the certificate, and the Old
Offender and his wife came out and declared that they witnessed the
ceremony.

What was to be done? evidently nothing; only the constable ordered a
whole barrel of ale to treat his posse and any one about tire town
who chose to drink, and the barrel was rolled out on the grass,
tapped, and for a half hour there was a great jollification, which
was not exactly in honor of our wedding, but which afforded the
greatest gratification to the constable, his retainers, and those
who happened to gather to see what was going on. This ended, and the
bill paid, the Easton delegation got into their wagons and turned
their horses heads towards home.

We passed three delightful days under the Old Offender's roof, and
then thanking our host for his kindness to us, and paying our bill,
we started on our return journey for Oxford. We arrived safely, and
staid with Boston Yankee a fortnight. We were close by the Scheimer
homestead, which was but a few miles away across the river; but we
feared neither father nor brothers, nor even the woman who was so
unwilling to let Sarah go with me. The constable, and the rest had
carried home the news of our marriage, and the old folks made the
best of it. Indeed, after they heard we had returned to Oxford,
Sarah's mother sent a man over to tell her that if she would come
home any day she could pack her clothes and other things, and take
them away with her. The day after we received this invitation,
Boston Yankee offered to take Sarah over home, and promised to bring
her safely back. So she went, was treated tolerably well, at any
rate, she secured her clothes and brought them home with her.

It was now time to bid farewell to our staunch friend, Boston
Yankee. I had inducements to go to Goshen, Orange County, N. Y.,
where I had many acquaintances, and to Goshen we went. We found a
good boarding place, and I began to practice medicine, After we had
been there a while, Sarah wrote home to let her family know where
she was, and that she was well and happy. Her father wrote in reply
that we both might come there at any time, and that if she would
come home he would do as well by her as he would by any of his
children. This letter made Sarah uneasy. In spite of all the ill
usage she had received from her parents and family, she was
nevertheless homesick, and longed to get back again. I could see
that this feeling grew upon her daily. We were pleasantly situated
where we were; I had a good and growing practice, and we had made
many friends; but this did not satisfy her; she had some property in
her own right, but her father was trustee of it, and he had hitherto
kept it away from her from spite at her love affair with me. But now
she was to be taken into favor again, and she represented to me that
we could go back and get her money, and that I could establish
myself there as well as anywhere; we could live well and happily
among her friends and old associations. These things were dinged in
my ears day after day, till I was sick of the very sound. I could
see that she was bound, or, as the Dutch doctor would have said,
"bewitched" to go back, and at last, after five happy months in
Goshen, in an evil hour I consented to go home with her.






CHAPTER V.

HOW THE SCHEIMERS MADE ME SUFFER.

RETURN TO SCHEIMER-PEACE AND THEN PANDEMONIUM-FRIGHTFUL FAMILY
ROW-RUNNING FOR REFUGE-THE GANG AGAIN-ARREST AT MIDNIGHT-STRUGGLE
WITH MY CAPTORS-IN JAIL ONCE MORE-PUT IN IRONS-A HORRIBLE PRISON
BREAKING OUT-THE DUNGEON-SARAH'S BABY-CURIOUS COMPROMISES-OLD
SCHEIMER MY JAILER-SIGNING A BOND-FREE AGAIN-LAST WORDS FROM SARAH.





We went back to the Scheimer homestead and were favorably received.
There was no special enthusiasm over our return, no marked
demonstrations of delight; but they seemed glad to see us, and all
the unpleasant things of the past, if not forgotten, were tacitly
ignored on all sides. We passed a pleasant evening together in what
seemed a re-united family circle-one of the brothers only was
absent-and next morning we met cordially around the breakfast table.
I really began to think it was possible that all the old
difficulties might be healed, and that the pleasant picture Sarah
painted, at Goshen, about settling down happily in Pennsylvania,
could be fully realized.

After breakfast I took a conveyance to go three or four miles to see
a man who owed me some money for medical services in his family, and
was away from Scheimer's three or four hours. During this brief
absence I could not help thinking with genuine satisfaction of the
happiness Sarah was experiencing in the gratification of her longing
to return home again. Surely, I thought, she must be happy now. No
more homesickness, and a full and complete reconciliation with her
family; all the anger, abuse, and blows forgotten or forgiven; she
restored to her place in the family; and even her objectionable
husband received with open arms.

But what an enormous difference there is between fancy and fact.
During this brief absence of mine, had come home the brother who had
always seemed to concentrate the hatred of the whole family towards
me for the wrong they assumed I had done to the youngest daughter
who loved me. On my return I found the peaceful home I left in the
morning a perfect pandemonium. Sarah was fairly frantic. The whole
family were abusing her. The returned brother especially, was
calling her all the vile names he could lay his tongue to. I learned
afterwards that he had been doing it ever since he came into the
house that day and found her at home and heard that I was with her.
They had picked, wrenched rather, out of her the secret I had
confided to her that I had another wife from whom I was "separated,"
but not divorced. My sudden presence on this scene was not exactly
oil on troubled waters; it was gunpowder to fire. As soon as Sarah
saw me at the door she cried out:

"O! husband, let us go away from here."

Her mother turned and shouted at me that I had better fly at once or
they would kill me. Meanwhile, that mob, which the Scheimer boys
seemed always to have at hand, was gathering in the dooryard. I
managed to get near enough to Sarah to tell her that I would send a
man for her next day, and then if she was willing to come with me
she must get away from her family if possible. I then made a rush
through the crowd, and reached the road. I think the gang had an
indistinct knowledge of the situation, or they would have mobbed me,
and perhaps killed me. They knew something was "to pay" at
Scheimer's, but did not know exactly what. Once on the road it was
my intention to have gone over to Belvidere, and then on to Oxford,
where I should have found a sure refuge with my friend Boston
Yankee.

Would that I had done so; but I was a fool; I thought I could be of
service to Sarah by remaining near her; might see her next day; I
might even be able to get her out of the house, and then we could
once more elope together and go back again to Goshen where we had
been so happy. So I went to a public house three miles above
Scheimer's, and remained there quietly during the rest of the day,
revolving plans for the deliverance of Sarah. I thought only of her.
It is strange that I did not once realize what a perilous position I
was in myself--that, firmly as I believed myself to be wedded to
Sarah, I was in fact amenable to the law, and liable to arrest and
punishment. All this never occurred to me. I saw one or two of the
gang who were at Scheimer's about the hotel, but they did not offer
to molest me, and I paid no particular attention to them. I did not
know then that they were spies and were watching my movements. At
nine o'clock I went to bed. At midnight, or thereabouts, I was
roughly awakened and told to get up. Without waiting for me, to
comply, five men who had entered my room pulled me out of bed, and
almost before I could huddle on my clothes I was handcuffed. Then
one of them, who said he was a constable from Easton, showed a
warrant for my arrest. What the arrest was for I was not informed. I
was taken down stairs, put into a wagon, the men followed, and the
horses started in the direction of Easton. By Scheimer's on the way,
and I could see a light in Sarah's window. I remembered how in, all
the Bedlam in the house that morning she still cried out: "I will go
with him." I remembered how, only a few months before, she had been
brutally flogged in that very chamber, to "get the devil out of
her." I remembered, too, the many happy, happy hours we had passed
together. And here was I, handcuffed and dragged in a wagon, I knew
not whither.

This for thoughts-in the way of action, was all the while trying to
get my handcuffs off, and at last I succeeded in getting one hand
free. Waiting my opportunity till we came to a piece of woods, I
suddenly jumped up and sprang from the wagon. It was a very dark
night, and in running into the woods I struck against a tree with
such force as to knock me down and nearly stun me. Two of the men
were on me in an instant. After a brief struggle I managed to get
away and ran again. I should have escaped, only a high rail fence
brought me to a sudden stop, and I was too exhausted to climb over
it. My pursuers who were hard at my heels the whole while now laid
hold of me. In the subsequent struggle I got out my pocket knife,
and stabbed one of them, cutting his arm badly. Then they
overpowered me. They dragged me to the roadside, brought a rope out
of the wagon, bound my arms and legs, and so at last carried me to
Easton.

It was nearly daylight when I was thrust into jail. There were no
cells, only large rooms for a dozen or more men, and I was put, into
one of these with several prisoners who were awaiting trial, or who
had been tried and were there till they could be sent to prison. It
was a day or two before I found out what I was there for. Then a
Dutch Deputy Sheriff, who was also keeper of the jail, came and told
me that I was held for bigamy, adding the consoling intelligence
that it would be a very hard job for me, and that I would get five
or six years in State prison sure. I was well acquainted in Easton,
and I sent for lawyer Litgreave for assistance and advice. I sent
also to my half-sister in Delaware County, N. Y., and in a day or
two she came and saw me, and gave Mr. Litgreave one hundred dollars
retaining fee. My lawyer went to see the Scheimers and when he
returned he told me that he hoped to save me from State prison-at
all events he would exercise the influence he had over the family to
that end; but I must expect to remain in jail a long time. Precisely
what this meant I did not know then; but I found out afterwards.

Soon after this visit from the lawyer, the Deputy Sheriff came in
and said that he was ordered "by the Judge" to iron me, and it was
done. They were heavy leg-irons weighing full twelve pounds, and I
may say here that I wore them during the whole term of my
imprisonment in this jail, or rather they wore me--wearing their way
in time almost into the bone. I had been here a week now, and was
well acquainted with the character of the place. It was
indescribably filthy; no pretence was made of cleansing it. The
prisoners were half fed, and, at that, the food was oftentimes so
vile that starving men rejected it. The deputy who kept the jail was
cruel and malignant, and took delight in torturing his prisoners. He
would come in sometimes under pretence of looking at my irons to see
if they were safe, and would twist and turn them about so that I
suffered intolerable pain, and blood flowed from my wounds made by
these cruel irons. Such abuse as he could give with his tongue he
dispensed freely. Of course he was a coward, and he never dared to
come into one of the prisoner's rooms unless he was armed. This is a
faithful photograph of the interior of the jail at Easton, Penn., as
it was a few years ago; there may have been some improvement since
that time; for the sake of humanity, I hope there has been.

After I had been in this jail about six weeks, and had become well
acquainted with my room-mates, I communicated to them one day, the
result of my observation:

"There," said I, showing them a certain place in the wall, "is a
loose stone that with a little labor can be lifted out, and it will
leave a hole large enough for us to get out of and go where we
like."

Examination elicited a unanimous verdict in favor of making the
attempt. With no tools but a case knife we dug out the mortar on all
sides of the stone doing the work by turns and covering the stone by
hanging up an old blanket-which excited no suspicion, as it was at
the head of one of the iron bedsteads--whenever the Deputy or any of
his men were likely to visit us. In twelve days we completed the
work, and could lift out the stone. The hole was large enough to let
a man through, and there was nothing for us to do but to crawl out
one after the other and drop down a few feet into the yard. This
yard was surrounded by a board fence that could be easily
surmounted. I intended to take the lead, after taking off my irons
(which I had learned to do, and indeed, did every day, putting them
on only when I was liable to be "inspected") and after leaving these
irons at the Deputy's door, I intended to put myself on the Jersey
side of the river as speedily as possible.

Liberty was within reach of every man in that room, and the night
was set for the escape. But one of the crowd turned traitor, and,
under pretence, of speaking to the Deputy about some matter, managed
to be called out of the room and disclosed the whole. The man was
waiting transportation to prison to serve out a sentence of ten
years, and, with the chance of escape before him, it seemed singular
that he should reveal a plan which promised to give him liberty; but
probably he feared a failure; or that he might be recaptured and his
prison sentence increased; while on the other hand by disclosing the
plot he could curry favor enough to get his term reduced, and
perhaps he might gain a pardon. Any how, he betrayed us. The Deputy
came in and found the stone in the condition described, and
forthwith we were all removed to the dungeon, or dark room, and kept
there on bread and water for twelve days. We heard afterwards that
our betrayer did get five years less than his original sentence for
subjecting his comrades in misery to twelve days of almost
indescribable suffering. We were not only in a totally dark and
frightfully filthy hole, but we were half starved, and the Deputy
daily took delight in taunting us with our sufferings.

At the end of the twelve days we were taken back to the old room
where we found the stone securely fastened in with irons. Moreover,
we were now under stricter observation, and at stated hours every
day, an inspector came in and examined the walls. This soon wore
off, however, and when the inspection was finally abandoned, about
two months from the time of our first attempt, we managed to find
another place in the old wall where we could dig out and we went to
work. We were a fortnight at it, and had nearly completed our labor
when we were discovered.

This time we spent fourteen days in the dungeon for our pains.

And now comes an extraordinary disclosure with regard to my
imprisonment. A few days after my removal from the dungeon to the
old quarters again, the Deputy, in one of his rare periods of what,
with him, passed for good humor, informed me that Sarah had been
confined, and had given birth to a fine boy; that she was crying for
my release; that Lawyer Sitgreave was interceding for me; but that
the old man Scheimer was still obstinate and would not let me out.
Passing over my feelings with regard to the birth of my son, here
was a revelation indeed! It will be remembered that I had only been
told that I was under indictment for bigamy. I had never been
brought before a justice for a preliminary examination; never bound
over for trial; and now it transpired that old Scheimer, a
Pennsylvania Dutch farmer, had the power to put me in jail, put me
in irons, and subject me to long months, perhaps years of
imprisonment. I had something to occupy my thoughts now, and for
the remaining period of my jail life.

Next came a new dodge of the Scheimers, the object of which was to
show that Sarah's marriage to me was no marriage at all, thus
leaving her free to marry any other man her family might force upon
her. When I had been in jail seven months, one day the Deputy came
in and said that he was going to take off my irons. I told him I
wouldn't trouble him to do that, for though I had worn them when he
and his subordinates were around till the irons had nearly killed
me, yet at other times I had been in a habit of taking them off at
pleasure; and to prove it, I sat down and in a few minutes handed
him the irons. The man was amazed; but saying nothing about the
irons, he approached me on another subject. He said he thought if I
would sign an acknowledgment that I was a married man when I married
Sarah Scheimer, and would leave the State forever, I could get out
of jail; would I do it? I told him I would give no answer till I had
seen my counsel.

Well, the next day Lawyer Sitgreave came to me and told me I had
better do it, and I consented. Shortly afterwards, I was taken to
court, for the first time in this whole affair, and was informed by
the judge that if I would sign a bond not to go near the Scheimer
house or family he would discharge me. I signed such a bond, and the
judge then told me I was discharged; but that I ought to have gone
to State prison for ten years for destroying the peace and happiness
of the Scheimer family. Truly the Scheimer family were a power,
indeed, in that part of the country!

My lawyer gave me five dollars and I went to Harmony and staid that
night. The next day I went to an old friend of mine, a Methodist
minister, and persuaded him to go over and see what Sarah Scheimer's
feelings were towards me, and if she was willing to come to me with
our child. He went over there, but the old Scheimers suspected his
errand, and watched him closely to see that he held no communication
with Sarah. He did, however, have an opportunity to speak to her,
and she sent me word that if she could ever get her money and get
away from her parents, she would certainly join me in any part of
the world. I was warned, at the same time, not to come near the
house, for fear that her father or some of her brothers would kill
me.






CHAPTER VI.

FREE LIFE AND FISHING.

TAKING CARE OF CRAZY MEN-CARRYING OFF A BOY-ARRESTED FOR STEALING
MY OWN HORSE AND BUGGY-FISHING IN LAKE WINNIPISEOGEE-AN ODD
LANDLORD-A WOMAN AS BIG AS A HOGSHEAD-REDUCING THE HOGSHEAD TO A
BARREL-WONDERFUL VERIFICATION OF A DREAM-SUCCESSFUL MEDICAL
PRACTICE-A BUSY WINTER IN NEW HAMPSHIRE-BLANDISHMENTS OF CAPTAIN
BROWN-I GO TO NEWARK, NEW JERSEY.





The next day I left Harmony and walked to Port Jarvis, on the Erie
Railroad, N. Y., arriving late at night, and entirely footsore,
sick, and disheartened. I went to the hotel, and the next morning I
found myself seriously sick. Asking advice, I was directed to the
house of a widow, who promised to nurse and take care of me. I was
ill for two weeks, and meantime, my half-sister in Delaware County,
to whom I made known my condition, sent me money for my expenses,
and when I had sufficiently recovered to travel, I went to this
sister's house in Sidney, and there I remained several days, till I
was quite well and strong again.

Casting about for something to do, a friend told me that he knew of
an opportunity for a good man at Newbury to take care of a young
man, eighteen years of age, who was insane. I went there and saw his
father, and he put him under my charge. I had the care of him four
months, and during the last two months of the time I traveled about
with him, and returned him, finally, to his friends in a materially
improved condition. The friends of another insane man in Montgomery,
near Newbury, hearing of my success with this young man, sent for me
to come and see them. I went there and found a man who had been
insane seven years, but who was quiet and well-behaved, only he was
"out of his head." I engaged to do what I could for him. The father
of my Newbury patient had paid me well, and with my medical practice
and the sale of medicines in traveling about, I had accumulated
several hundred dollars, and when I went to Montgomery I had a good
horse and buggy which cost me five hundred dollars. So, when my new
patient had been under my care and control two months, I proposed
that he should travel about with me in my buggy, and visit various
parts of the State in the immediate vicinity. His friends thought
well of the suggestion, and we traveled in this way about four
months, stopping a few days here and there, when I practiced where I
could, and sold medicines, making some money. At the end of this
time I went back to Montgomery with my patient, as I think, fully
restored, and his father, besides, paying the actual expenses of our
journey, gave me six hundred dollars.

Returning to Sidney I learned that my first and worst wife was then
living with the children at Unadilla, a few miles across the river
in Otsego County. I had no desire to see her, but I heard at the
same time that my youngest boy, a lad ten years old, had been sent
to work on a farm three miles beyond, and that he was not well taken
care of. I drove over to see about it, and after some inquiry I was
told that the boy was then in school. Going to the schoolhouse and
asking for him, the school-mistress, who knew me, denied that he was
there, but I pushed in, and found him, and a ragged, miserable
looking little wretch he was. I brought him out, put him into the
carriage and took him with me on the journey which I was then
contemplating to Amsterdam, N. Y., stopping at the first town to get
him decently clothed. The boy went with me willingly, indeed he was
glad to go, and in due time we arrived at Amsterdam, and from there
we went to Troy.

I had not been in Troy two hours before I was arrested for stealing
my own horse and buggy! My turnout was taken from me, and I found
myself in durance vile. I was not long in procuring bail, and I then
set myself, to work to find out what this meant. I was shown a
handbill describing my person, giving my name, giving a description
of my horse, and offering a reward of fifty dollars for my arrest.
This was signed by a certain Benson, of Kingston, Sullivan County,
N.Y. I then remembered that while I was traveling with my insane
patient from Montgomery through Sullivan County, I fell in with a
Benson who was a very plausible fellow, and who scraped acquaintance
with me, and while I was at Kingston he rode about with me on one or
two occasions. One day he told me that he knew a girl just out of
the place who was subject to fits, and wanted to know if I could do
anything for her; that her father was rich and would pay a good
price to have her cured. I went to see the girl and did at least
enough to earn a fee of one hundred dollars, which her father gladly
paid me. Benson also introduced me to some other people whom I found
profitable patients. I thought he was a very good friend to me, but
he was a cool, calculating rascal. He meant to rob me of my horse
and buggy, and went deliberately to work about it. First, he issued
the handbill which caused my arrest in Troy, where he knew I was
going. Next, as appeared when he came up to Troy to prosecute the
suit against me, he forged a bill of sale. The case was tried and
decided in my favor. Benson appealed, and again it was decided that
the horse belonged to me. I then had him indicted for perjury and
forgery, and he was put under bonds of fourteen hundred dollars in
each case to appear for trial. Some how or other he never appeared,
and whether he forfeited his bonds, or otherwise slipped through the
"meshes of the law," I never learned, nor have I ever seen him since
he attempted to swindle me. But these proceedings kept me in Troy
more than a month, and to pay my lawyer and other expenses, I
actually sold the horse and buggy the scoundrel tried to steal from
me.

Taking my boy to Sidney and putting him under the care of my half
sister, I went to Boston, where I met two friends of mine who were
about going to Meredith Bridge, N.H., to fish through the ice on
Lake Winnipiseogee. It was early in January, 1853, and good, clear,
cold weather. They represented the sport to be capital, and said
that plenty of superb lake trout and pickerel could be taken every
day, and urged me to go with them. As I had nothing special to do
for a few days, I went. When we reached Meredith we stopped at a
tavern near the lake, kept by one of the oddest landlords I have
ever met. After a good supper, as we were sitting in the barroom,
the landlord came up to me and at once opened conversation in the
following manner:

"Waal, where do you come from, anyhow?"

"From Boston," I replied.

"Waal, what be you, anyhow?"

"Well, I practice medicine, and take care of the sick."

"Dew ye? Waal, do ye ever cure anybody?"

"O, sometimes; quite frequently, in fact."

"Dew ye! waal, there's a woman up here to Lake Village, 'Squire
Blaisdell's wife, who has had the dropsy more'n twelve years; been
filling' all the time till they tell me she's bigger'n a hogshead
now, and she's had a hundred doctors, and the more doctors she has
the bigger she gets; what d' ye think of that now?"

I answered that I thought it was quite likely, and then turned away
from the landlord to talk to my friends about our proposed sport for
to-morrow, mentally making note of 'Squire Blaisdell's wife in Lake
Village.

After breakfast next morning we went out on the lake, cut holes in
the ice, set our lines, and before dinner we had taken several fine
trout and pickerel, the largest and finest of which we put into a
box with ice, and sent as a present to President Pierce, in
Washington. We had agreed, the night before, to fish for him the
first day, and to send him the best specimens we could from his
native state. After dinner my friends started to go out on the ice
again, and I told them "I guess'd I wouldn't go with them, I had
fished enough for that day." They insisted I should go, but I told
them I preferred to take a walk and explore the country. So they
went to the lake and I walked up to Lake Village.

I soon found Mr. Blaisdell's house, and as the servant who came to
the door informed me that Mr. Blaisdell was not at home, I asked to
see Mrs. Blaisdell, And was shown in to that lady. She was not quite
the "hogshead" the landlord declared her to be, but she was one of
the worst cases of dropsy I had ever seen. I introduced myself to
her, told her my profession, and that I had called upon her in the
hope of being able to afford her some relief; that I wanted nothing
for my services unless I could really benefit her.

"O, Doctor," said she, "you can do nothing for me; in the past
twelve years I have had at least forty different doctors, and none
of them have helped me."

"But there can be no harm in trying the forty-first;" and as I said
it I took from my vest pocket and held out in the palm of my hand
some pills:

"Here, madame, are some pills made from a simple blossom, which
cannot possibly harm you, and which, I am sure, will do you a great
deal of good."

"O, Mary!" she exclaimed to her niece, who was in attendance upon
her, "this is my dream! I dreamed last night that my father appeared
to me and told me that a stranger would come with a blossom in his
hand; that he would offer it to me, and that if I would take it I
should recover. Go and get a glass of water and I will take these
pills at once."

"Surely," said Mary, "you are not going to take this stranger's
medicine without knowing anything about it, or him?"

"I am indeed; go and get the water."

She took the medicine and then told me that her father, who had died
two years ago, was a physician, and had carefully attended to her
case as long as he lived; but that she had a will of her own, and
had sent far and near for other doctors, though with no good result.

"You have come to me," she continued, "and although I am not
superstitious, your coming with a blossom in your hand, figuratively
speaking, is so exactly in accordance with my dream, that I am going
to put myself under your care."

She then asked me if I lived in the neighborhood, and I told her no;
that I had merely come up from Boston with two friends to try a few
days' fishing through the ice on the lake.

"You can fish to better purpose here, I think," she said; "you can
get plenty of practice in the villages and farm houses about here:
at any rate, stay for the present and undertake my case, and I will
pay you liberally."

I went back to Meredith Bridge-I believe it is now called
Laconia-and had another day's fishing with my friends. When they
were ready to pack up and return to Boston, I astonished them by
informing them that I should stay where I was for the present,
perhaps for months, and that I believed I could find a good practice
in Meredith and adjoining places. So they left me and I went to Lake
Village, and made that pleasant place my headquarters.

The weeks wore on, and if Mrs. Blaisdell was a hogshead, as the
Meredith landlord said, when I first saw her, she soon became a
barrel under my treatment, and in four months she was entirely
cured, and was as sound as any woman in the State. I had as much
other business too as I could attend to, and was very busy and happy
all the time.

In May I went to Exeter, alternating between there and Portsmouth,
and finding enough to do till the end of July. While I was in
Portsmouth on one of my last visits to that place, I received a call
from a sea-captain by the name of Brown, who told me that he had
heard of my success in dropsical cases, and that I must go to
Newark, N. J., and see his daughter. "Pay," he said, "was no object;
I must go." I told him that I had early finished my business in that
vicinity, and that when I went to New York, as I proposed to do
shortly, I would go over to Newark and see his daughter. A few days
afterward, when I had settled my business and collected my bills in
Portsmouth and Exeter, I went to New York, and from there to Newark.






CHAPTER VII.

WEDDING A WIDOW, AND THE CONSEQUENCES.

I MARRY A WIDOW-SIX WEEKS OF HAPPINESS-CONFIDING A SECRET AND THE
CONSEQUENCES-THE WIDOW'S BROTHER-SUDDEN FLIGHT FROM NEWARK-IN
HARTFORD, CONN.-MY WIFE'S SISTER BETRAYS ME-TRIAL FOR BIGAMY-
SENTENCED TO TEN YEARS IMPRISONMENT-I BECOME A "BOBBIN BOY"-A GOOD
FRIEND-GOVERNOR PRICE VISITS ME IN PRISON-HE PARDONS ME-TEN YEARS'
SENTENCE FULFILLED IN SEVEN MONTHS.





Why in the world did Captain Brown ever tempt me with the prospect
of a profitable patient in Newark? I had no thought of going to that
city, and no business there except to see if I could cure Captain
Brown's daughter. With my matrimonial monomania it was like putting
my hand into the fire to go to a fresh place, where I should see
fresh faces, and where fresh temptations would beset me. And when I
went to Newark, I went only as I supposed, to see a single patient;
but Captain Brown prevailed upon me to stay to take care of his
daughter, and assured me that he and his friends would secure me a
good practice. They did. In two months I was doing as well in my
profession as I had ever done in any place where I had located. I
might have attended strictly to my business, and in a few years have
acquired a handsome competence. But, as ill luck, which, strangely
enough, I then considered good luck, would have it, when I had been
in Newark some two months, I became acquainted with a buxom,
good-looking widow, Mrs. Elizabeth Roberts. I protest to-day that
she courted me-not I her. She was fair, fascinating, and had a
goodly share of property. I fell into the snare. She said she was
lonely; she sighed; she smiled, and I was lost.

Would that I had observed the elder Weller's injunction: "Bevare of
vidders;" would that I had never seen the Widow Roberts, or rather
that she had never seen me. Eight weeks after we first met we were
married. We had a great wedding in her own house, and all her
friends were present. I was in good practice with as many patients
as I could attend to; she had a good home and we settled down to be
very happy.

For six weeks, only six weeks, I think we were so. We might have
been so for six weeks, six months, six years longer; but alas! I was
a fool I confided to her the secret of my first marriage, and
separation, and she confided the same secret to her brother, a
well-to-do wagon-maker in Newark. So far as Elizabeth was concerned,
she said she didn't care; so long as the separation was mutual and
final, since so many years had elapsed, and especially since I
hadn't seen the woman for full six years, and was not supposed to
know whether she was alive or dead, why, it was as good as a
divorce; so reasoned Elizabeth, and it was precisely my own
reasoning, and the reasoning which had got me into numberless
difficulties, to say nothing of jails and prisons. But the brother
had his doubts about it, and came and talked to me on the subject
several times. We quarrelled about it. He threatened to have me
arrested for bigamy. I told him that if he took a step in that
direction I would flog him. Then he had me brought before a justice
for threatening him, with a view to having me put under bonds to
keep the peace. I employed a lawyer who managed my case so well that
the justice concluded there was no cause of action against me.

But this lawyer informed me that the brother was putting, even then,
another rod in pickle for me, and that I had better clear out. I
took his advice, I went to the widow's house, packed my trunk,
gathered together what money I could readily lay hands upon, and
with about $300 in my pocket, I started for New York, staying that
night at a hotel in Courtland street.

The following morning I went over to Jersey City, hired a
saddle-horse, and rode to Newark. The precise object of my journey I
do not think I knew myself; but I must have had some vague idea of
persuading Elizabeth to leave Newark and join me in New York or
elsewhere. I confess, too, that I was more or less under the
influence of liquor, and considerably more than less. However, no
one would have noticed this in my appearance or demeanor. I rode
directly to Elizabeth's door, hitched my horse, and went into the
house. The moment my wife saw me she cried out:

"For God's sake get out of this house and out of town as soon as you
can; they have been watching for you ever since yesterday; they've
got a warrant for your arrest; don't stay here one moment."

I asked her if she was willing to follow me, and she said she would
do so if she only dared but her brother had made an awful row, and
had sworn he would put me in prison anyhow; I had better go back to
New York and await events. I started for the door, and was
unhitching my horse, when the brother and a half dozen more were
upon me. I sprang to the saddle. They tried to stop me; the
over-eager brother even caught me by the foot; but I dashed through
the crowd and rode like mad to Jersey City, returned the horse to
the livery stable, crossed the ferry to New York, went to my hotel,
got my trunk, and started for Hartford, Conn., where I arrived in
the evening.

This was in the month of June, 1854. I went to the old Exchange
Hotel in State street, and very soon acquired a good practice.
Indeed, it seems as if I was always successful enough in my medical
business-my mishaps have been in the matrimonial line. When I had
been in Hartford about three months, and was well settled, I thought
I would go down to New York and see a married sister of Elizabeth's,
who was living there, and try to find out how matters were going on
over in Newark. That I found out fully, if not exactly to my
satisfaction, will appear anon.

When I called at the sister's house, the servant told me she was
out, but would be back in an hour; so I left my name, promising to
call again. I returned again at one o'clock in the afternoon, and
the sister was in, but declined to see me. As I was coming down the
steps, a policeman who seemed to be lounging on the opposite side of
the street, beckoned to me, and suspecting nothing, I crossed over
to see what he wanted. He simply wanted to know my name, and when I
gave it to him he informed me that I was his prisoner. I asked for
what? and he said "as a fugitive from justice in New Jersey."

This was for taking the pains to come down from Hartford to inquire
after the welfare of my wife! whose sister, the moment the servant
told her I had been there, and would call again, had gone to the
nearest police station and given information, or made statements,
which led to the setting of this latest trap for me. The policeman
took me before a justice who sent me to the Tombs. On my arrival
there I managed to pick up a lawyer, or rather one of the sharks of
the place picked me up, and said that for twenty-five dollars he
would get me clear in three or four hours. I gave him the money, and
from that day till now, I have never set eyes upon him. I lay in a
cell all night, and next morning Elizabeth's brother, to whom the
sister in New York had sent word that I was caged, came over from
Newark to see me. He said he felt sorry for me, but that he was
"bound to put me through." He then asked me if I would go over to
Newark without a requisition from the Governor of New Jersey, and I
told him I would not; whereupon he went away without saying another
word, and I waited all day to hear from the lawyer to whom I had
given twenty-five dollars, but he did not come.

So next day when the brother came over and asked me the same
question, I said I would go; wherein I was a fool; for I ought to
have reflected that he had had twenty-four hours in which to get a
requisition, and that he might in fact have made application for one
already, without getting it, and every delay favored my chances of
getting out. But I had no one to advise me, and so I went quietly
with him and an officer to the ferry, where we crossed and went by
cars to Newark. I was at once taken before a justice, who, after a
hearing of the case, bound me over, under bonds of only one thousand
dollars, to take my trial for bigamy.

If I could have gone into the street I could have procured this
comparatively trifling bail in half an hour; as it was, after I was
in jail I sent for a man whom I knew, and gave him my gold watch and
one hundred dollars, all the money I had, to procure me bail, which
he promised to do; but he never did a thing for me, except to rob
me.

A lawyer came to me and offered to take my case in hand for one
hundred dollars, but I had not the money to give him. I then sent to
New York for a lawyer whom I knew, and when he came to see me he
took the same view of the case that Elizabeth and I did; that is,
that the long separation between my first wife and myself, and my
presumed ignorance as to whether she was alive or dead, gave me full
liberty to marry again. At least, he thought any court would
consider it an extenuating circumstance, and he promised to be
present at my trial and aid me all he could.

I lay in Newark jail nine months, awaiting my trial. During that
time I had almost daily quarrels with the jailor, who abused me
shamefully, and told me I ought to go to State prison and stay there
for life. Once he took hold of me and I struck him, for which I was
put in the dark cell forty-eight hours. At last came my trial. The
court appointed counsel for me, for I had no money to fee a lawyer,
and my New York friend was on hand to advise and assist. I lad
witnesses to show the length of time that had elapsed since my
separation from my first wife, and we also raised the point as to
whether the justice who married me, was really a legal justice of
the peace or not. The trial occupied two days. I suppose all
prisoners think so, but the Judge charged against me in every point;
the jury was out two hours, and then came in for advice on a
doubtful question; the judge gave them another blast against me, and
an hour after they came in with a verdict of "guilty." I went back
to jail and two days afterwards was brought up for sentence which
was--"ten years at hard labor in the State prison at Trenton."

Good heavens! All this for being courted and won by a widow!

The day following, I was taken in irons to Trenton. The Warden of
the prison, who wanted to console me, said that, for the offence, my
sentence was an awful one, and that he didn't believe I would be
obliged to serve out half of it. As I felt then, I did not believe I
should live out one-third of it. After I had gone through the
routine of questions, and had been put in the prison uniform, a cap
was drawn down over my face, as if I was about to be hung, and I was
led, thus blind-folded, around and around, evidently to confuse me,
with regard to the interior of the prison-in case I might ever have
any idea of breaking out. At last I was brought to a cell door and
the cap was taken off. There were, properly no "cells" in this
prison-at least I never saw any; but good sized rooms for two
prisoners, not only to live in but to work in. I found myself in a
room with a man who was weaving carpets, and I was at once
instructed in the art of winding yarn on bobbins for him-in fact, I
was to be his "bobbin-boy."

I pursued this monotonous occupation for two months, when I told the
keeper I did not like that business, and wanted to try something
that had a little more variety in it. Whereupon he put me at the
cane chair bottoming business, which gave me another room and
another chum, and I remained at this work while I was in the prison.
In three weeks I could bottom one chair, while my mate was bottoming
nine or ten as his day's work; but I told the keeper I did not mean
to work hard, or work at all, if I could help it. He was a very nice
fellow and he only laughed and let me do as I pleased. Indeed, I
could not complain of my treatment in any respect; I had a good
clean room, good bed, and the fare was wholesome and abundant. But
then, there was that terrible, terrible sentence of ten long years
of this kind of life, if I should live through it.

After I had been in prison nearly seven months, one day a merchant
tailor whom I well knew in Newark, and who made my clothes,
including my wedding suit when I married the Widow Roberts, came to
see me. The legislature was in session and he was a member of the
Senate. He knew all the circumstances of my case, and was present at
my trial. After the first salutation, he laughingly said:

"Well, Doctor, those are not quite as nice clothes as I used to
furnish you with."

"No," I replied, "but perhaps they are more durable."

After some other chaff and chat, he made me tell him all about my
first marriage and subsequent separation, and after talking awhile
he went away, promising to see me soon. I looked upon this only as a
friendly visit, for which I was grateful; and attached no great
importance to it. But he came again in a few days, and after some
general conversation, he told me that there was a movement on foot
in my favor, which might bring the best of news to me; that he had
not only talked with his friends in the legislature, and enlisted
their sympathy and assistance, but he had laid the whole
circumstances, from beginning to end, before Governor Price; that
the Governor would visit the prison shortly, and then I must do my
best in pleading my own cause.

In a day or two the Governor came, and I had an opportunity to
relate my story. I told him all about my first unfortunate marriage,
and the separation. He said that he knew the facts, and also that he
had lately received a letter from my oldest son on the subject, and
had read it with great interest. I then appealed to the Governor for
his clemency; my sentence was an outrageously severe one, and seemed
almost prompted by private malice; I implored him to pardon me; I
went down on my knees before him, and asked his mercy. He told me to
be encouraged; that he would be in the prison again in a few days,
and he would see me. He then went away.

I at once drew up a petition which my friend in the Senate
circulated in the legislature for signatures, and afterwards sent it
to Newark, securing some of the best names in that city. It was then
returned to me, and two weeks afterwards when the Governor came
again to the prison I presented it to him, and he put it in his
pocket.

In two days' time, Governor Price sent my pardon into the prison.
The Warden came and told me of it, and said he would let me out in
an hour. Then came a keeper who once more put the cap over my face
and led me around the interior-I was willingly led now-till he
brought me to a room where he gave me my own clothes which I put on,
and with a kind parting word, and five dollars from the Warden, I
was soon in the street, once more a free man. My sentence of ten
years had been fulfilled by an imprisonment of exactly seven months.

I went and called on Governor Price to thank him for his great
goodness towards me. He received me kindly, talked to me for some
time, and gave me some good advice and a little money. With this and
the five dollars I received from the Warden of the prison I started
for New York.






CHAPTER VII.

ON THE KEEN SCENT.

GOOD RESOLUTIONS-ENJOYING FREEDOM-GOING AFTER A CRAZY MAN-THE OLD
TEMPTER IN A NEW FORM-MARY GORDON-MY NEW "COUSIN"-ENGAGED
AGAIN-VISIT TO THE OLD FOLKS AT HOME-ANOTHER MARRIAGE-STARTING FOR
OHIO-CHANGE OF PLANS-DOMESTIC QUARRELS-UNPLEASANT STORIES ABOUT
MARY-BOUND OVER TO KEEP THE PEACE-ANOTHER ARREST FOR BIGAMY-A SUDDEN
FLIGHT-SECRETED THREE WEEKS IN A FARM HOUSE-RECAPTURED AT CONCORD
-ESCAPED ONCE MORE-TRAVELING ON THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD-IN CANADA.





It would seem as if, by this time, I had had enough of miscellaneous
marrying and the imprisonment that almost invariably followed. I had
told Governor Price, when I first implored him for pardon, that if
he would release me I would begin a new life, and endeavor to be in
all respects a better man. I honestly meant to make every effort to
be so, and on my stay to New York I made numberless vows for my own
future good behavior. I bound myself over, as it were, to keep the
pace-my own peace and quiet especially-and became my own surety.
That I could not have had a poorer bondsman, subsequent events
proved to my sorrow. But I started fairly, and meant to let liquor
alone; to attend strictly to my medical business, which I always
managed to make profitable, and above all, to have nothing to do
with women in the love-making or matrimonial way.

With those good resolutions I arrived in New York and went to my old
hotel in Courtland Street, where I was well known and was well
received. My trunk, which I had left there sixteen months before,
was safe, and I had a good suit of clothes on my back--the clothes I
took off when I went to prison in Trenton--and which were returned
to me when I came away. I went to a friend who loaned me some money,
and I remained two or three days in town to try my new-found
freedom, going about the city, visiting places of amusement,
enjoying myself very much, and keeping, so far, the good resolutions
I had formed.

From New York I went to Troy, and at the hotel where I stopped I
became acquainted with a woman who told me that her husband was in
the Insane Asylum at Brattleboro, Vt. She was going to see him, and
if he was fit to be removed, she proposed to take him home, with
her. I told her of the success I had had in taking care of two men
at Newbury and Montgomery; and how I had traveled about the country
with them, and with the most beneficial results to my patients. She
was much interested, inquired into the particulars, and finally
thought the plan would be a favorable one for her husband. She asked
me to go with her to see him, and said that if he was in condition
to travel he should go about with me if he would; at any rate, if he
came out of the Asylum she would put him under my care. We went
together to Brattleboro, and the very day we arrived her husband was
taken in an apoplectic fit from which he did not recover. She
carried home his corpse, and I lost my expected patient.

But I must have something to do for my daily support, and so I went
to work and very soon sold some medicines and recipes, and secured a
few patients. I also visited the adjoining villages, and in a few
weeks I had a very good practice. I might have lived here quietly
and made money. Nobody knew anything of my former history, my
marriages or my misfortunes, and I was doing well, with a daily
increasing business. And so I went on for nearly three months,
gaining new acquaintances, and extending my practice every day.

Then came the old tempter in a new form, and my matrimonial
monomania, which I hoped was cured forever, broke out afresh. One
day, at the public house where I lived, I saw a fine girl from New
Hampshire, with whom I became acquainted--so easily, so far as she
was concerned--that I ought to have been warned to have nothing to
do with her; but, as usual, in such cases, my common sense left me,
and I was infatuated enough to fancy that I was in love.

Mary Gordon was the daughter of a farmer living near Keene, N. H.,
and was a handsome girl about twenty years of age. She was going,
she told me, to visit some friends in Bennington, and would be there
about a month, during which time, if I was in that vicinity, she
hoped I would come and see her. We parted very lovingly, and when
she had been in Bennington a few days she wrote to me, setting a
time for me to visit her; but in business in Brattleboro was too
good to leave, and I so wrote to her. Whereupon, in another week,
she came back to Brattleboro and proposed to finish the remainder of
her visit there, thus blinding her friends at home who would think
she was all the while at Bennington.

Our brief acquaintance when she was at the house before, attracted
no particular attention, and when she came now I told the landlord
that she was my cousin, and he gave her a room and I paid her bills.
The cousin business was a full cover to our intimacy; she sat next
to me at the table, rode about with me to see my patients, and when
I went to places near by to sell medicine, and we were almost
constantly together. Of course, we were engaged to be married, and
that very soon.

In a fortnight after her arrival I went home with her to her
father's farm near Keene, and she told her mother that we were
"engaged." The old folks thought they would like to know me a little
better, but she said we were old friends, she knew me thoroughly,
and meant to marry me. There was no further objection on the part of
her parents, and in the few days following she and her mother were
busily engaged in preparing her clothes and outfit.

I then announced my intention of returning to Brattleboro to settle
up my business in that place, and she declared she would go with me;
I was sure to be lonesome; she might help me about my bills, and so
on. Strange as it may seem, her parents made no objection to her
going, though I was to be absent a fortnight, and was not to be
married till I came back. So we went together, and I and my "cousin"
put up at the hotel we had lately left. For two weeks I was busy in
making my final visits to my patients acquaintances, she generally
going with me every day.

At the end of that time we went back to Keene, and in three weeks we
were married in her father's house, the old folks making a great
wedding for us, which was attended by all the neighbors and friends
of the family. We stayed at home two weeks, and meanwhile arranged
our plans for the future. We proposed to go out to Ohio, where she
had some relatives, and settle down. She had seven hundred dollars
in bank in Keene which she drew, and we started on our journey. We
went to Troy, where we stayed a few days, and during that time we
both concluded that we would not go West, but return to Keene and
live in the town instead of on the farm, so that I could open an
office and practice there.

So we went back to her home again, but before I completed my plans
for settling down in Keene, Mary and I had several quarrels which
were worse than mere ordinary matrimonial squabbles. Two or three
young men in Keene, with whom I had become acquainted, twitted me
with marrying Mary, and told me enough about her to convince me that
her former life had not been altogether what it should have been. I
had been too blinded by her beauty when I first saw her in
Brattleboro, to notice how extremely easily she was won. Her
parents, too, were wonderfully willing, if not eager, to marry her
to me. All these things came to me now, and we had some very lively
conversations on the subject, in which the old folks joined, siding
with their daughter of course. By and by the girl went to Keene and
made a complaint that she was afraid of her life, and I was brought
before a magistrate and put under bonds of four hundred dollars to
keep the peace. I gave a man fifty dollars to go bail for me, and
then, instead of going out to the farm with Mary, I went to the
hotel in Keene.

The well-known character of the girl, my marriage to her, the brief
honeymoon, the quarrels and the cause of the same, were all too
tempting material not to be served up in a paragraph, and as I
expected and feared, out came the whole story in the Keene paper.

This was copied in other journals, and presently came letters to the
family and to other persons in the place, giving some account of my
former adventures and marriages. Of this however I knew nothing,
till one day, while I was at the hotel, I was suddenly arrested for
bigamy. But I was used to this kind of arrest by this time, and I
went before the magistrate with my mind made up that I must suffer
again for my matrimonial monomania.

It was just after dinner when I was arrested, and the examination,
which was a long one, continued till evening. Every one in the
magistrate's office was tired out with it, I especially, and so I
took a favorable opportunity to leave the premises. I bolted for the
door, ran down stairs into the street, and was well out of town
before the astonished magistrate, stunned constable, and amazed
spectators realized that I had gone.

Whether they than set out in pursuit of me I never knew, I only know
they did not catch me. I ran till I came to the house of a farmer
whom I had been attending for some ailment, and hurriedly narrating
the situation, I offered him one hundred dollars if he would secrete
me till the hue and cry was over and I could safely get away. I
think he would have done it from good will, but the hundred dollar
bill I offered him made the matter sure. He put my money into his
pocket, and he put me into a dark closet, not more than five feet
square, and locked me in.

I stayed in that man's house, never going out of doors, for more
than three weeks, and did my best to board out my hundred dollars.
The day after my flight the whole neighborhood was searched, that
is, the woods, roads, and adjacent villages. They never thought of
looking in a house, particularly in a house so near the town; and,
as I heard from my protector, they telegraphed and advertised far
and near for me.

I anticipated all this, and for this very reason I remained quietly
where I was, in an unsuspected house, and with my dark closet to
retire to whenever any one came in; and gossiping neighbors coming
in almost every hour, kept me in that hole nearly half the time. I
heard my own story told in that house at least fifty times, and in
fifty different ways.

At last, when I thought it was safe, one night my host harnessed up
his horses and carried me some miles on my way to Concord. He drove
as far as he dared, for he wanted to get back home by daylight, so
that his expedition might excite no suspicion. Twenty miles away
from Keene he set me down in the road, and, bidding him "good-bye,"
I began my march toward Concord. When I arrived there, almost the
first man I saw in the street was a doctor from Keene. I did not
think he saw me, but he did, as I soon found out, for while I was
waiting at the depot to take the cars to the north, I was arrested.

The Keene doctor owed me a grudge for interfering, as he deemed it;
with his regular practice, and the moment he saw me he put an
officer on my trail. I thought it was safe here to take the cars,
for I was footsore and weary, nor did I get away from Keene as fast
and as far as I wanted to. I should have succeeded but for that
doctor.

When the officer brought me before a justice, the doctor was a
willing witness to declare that I was a fugitive from justice, and
he stated the circumstances of my escape. So I was sent back to
Keene under charge of the very officer who arrested me at the depot.

I would not give this officer's name if I could remember it, but he
was a fine fellow, and was exceedingly impressible. For instance, on
our arrival at Keene, he allowed me to go to the hotel and pack my
trunk to be forwarded to Meredith Bridge by express. He then handed
me over to the authorities, and I was immediately taken before the
magistrate from whom I had previously escaped, the Concord officer
accompanying the Keene officer who had charge of me.

The examination was short; I was bound over in the sum of one
thousand dollars to take my trial for bigamy. On my way to jail I
persuaded the Concord officer-with a hundred dollar bill which I
slipped into his hand-to induce the other officer to go with me to
the hotel under pretense of looking after my things, and getting
what would be necessary for my comfort in jail. My Concord friend
kept the other officer down stairs--in the bar-room, I presume--while
I went to my room. I put a single shirt in my pocket; the distance
from my window to the ground was not more than twelve or fifteen
feet, and I let myself down from the window sill and then dropped.

I was out of the yard, into the street, and out of town in less than
no time. It was already evening, and everything favored my escape. I
had no idea of spending months in jail at Keene, and months more,
perhaps years, in the New Hampshire State Prison. All my past bitter
experiences of wretched prison life urged me to flight.

And fly I did. No stopping at the friendly farmer's, my former
refuge, this time; that would be too great a risk. No showing of
myself in any town or villege where the telegraph might have
conveyed a description of my person. I traveled night and day on
foot, and more at night than during the day, taking by-roads, lying
by in the woods, sleeping in barns, and getting my meals in
out-of-the-way farm houses.

I had plenty of money; but this kind of travelling is inexpensive,
and, paying twenty-five cents for one or two meals a day, as I dared
to get them, and sleeping in barns or under haystacks for nothing,
my purse did not materially diminish. I was a good walker, and in
the course of a week from the night when I left Keene, I found
myself in Biddeford, Maine.

There was some sense of security in being in another State, and here
I ventured to take the cars for Portland, where I staid two days,
sending in the meantime for my trunk from Meredith Bridge, and
getting it by express. Of course it went to a fictitious address at
Meredith, and it came to me under the same name which I had
registered in my hotel at Portland.

I did not mean to stay there long. My departure was hastened by the
advice of a man who knew me, and told he also knew my New Hampshire
scrape, and that I had better leave Portland as soon as possible.
Half an hour after this good advice I was on my way by cars to
Canada. In Canada I stayed in different small towns near the border,
and "kept moving," till I thought the New Hampshire matter had blown
over a little, or at least till they had given me up as a "gone
case," and I then reappeared in Troy.






CHAPTER IX.

MARRYING TWO MILLINERS.

BACK IN VERMONT-FRESH TEMPTATIONS-MARGARET BRADLEY-WINE AND WOMEN-A
MOCK MARRIAGE IN TROY-THE FALSE CERTIFICATE-MEDICINE AND
MILLINERY-ELIZA GURNSEY-A SPREE AT SARATOGA-MARRYING ANOTHER
MILLINER-AGAIN ARRESTED OR BIGAMY-IN JAIL ELEVEN MONTHS-A TEDIOUS
TRIAL-FOUND GUILTY-APPEAL TO SUPREME COURT-TRYING TO BREAK OUT OF
JAIL-A GOVERNOR'S PROMISE-SECOND TRIAL-SENTENCE TO THREE YEARS'
IMPRISONMENT.





From Troy I went, first to Newburyport, Mass., where I had some
business, and where I remained a week, and then returned to Troy
again. Next I went to Bennington, Vt., to sell medicines and
practice, and I found enough to occupy me there for full two months.
From Bennington to Rutland, selling medicines on the way, and at
Rutland I intended to stay for some time. My oldest son was there
well established in the medical business, and I thought that both of
us together might extend a wide practice and make a great deal of
money.

No doubt we might have done so, if I had minded my medical business
only, and had let matrimonial matters alone. I had just got rid of a
worthless woman in New Hampshire with a very narrow escape from
State prison. But, as my readers know by this time, all experience,
even the bitterest, was utterly thrown away upon me; I seemed to get
out of one scrape only to walk, with my eyes open, straight into
another.

At the hotel where I went to board, there was temporarily staying a
woman, about thirty-two years old, Margaret Bradly, by name, who
kept a large millinery establishment in town. I became acquainted
with her, and she told me that she owned a house in the place, in
which she and her mother lived; but her mother had gone away on a
visit, and as she did not like to live alone she had come to the
hotel to stay for a few days till her mother returned. Margaret was
a fascinating woman; she knew it, and it was my miserable fate to
become intimate, altogether too intimate with this designing
milliner.

I went to her store every day, sometimes two or three times a day,
and she always had in her backroom, wine or something stronger to
treat me with, and in the evening I saw her at the hotel. When her
mother came back, and Margaret opened her house again, I was a
constant visitor. I was once more caught; I was in love.

Matters went on in this way for several weeks, when one evening I
told her that I was going next day to Troy on business, and she said
she wanted to go there to buy some goods, and that she would gladly
take the opportunity to go with me, if I would let her. Of course, I
was only too happy; and the next day I and my son, and she and one
of the young women in her employ, who was to assist her in selecting
goods, started for Troy. When I called for her, just as we were
leaving the house, the old lady, her mother, called out:

"Margaret, don't you get married before you come back."

"I guess I will," was Margaret's answer, and we went, a very jovial
party of four, to Troy and put up at the Girard House, where we had
dinner together, and drank a good deal of wine. After dinner my son
and myself went to attend to our business, she and her young woman
going to make their purchases, and arranging to meet us at a
restaurant at half past four o'clock, when we would lunch
preparatory to returning to Rutland.

We met at the appointed place and hour, and had a very lively lunch
indeed, an orgie in fact, with not only enough to eat, but
altogether too much to drink. I honestly think the two women could
have laid me and my son under the table, and would have done it, if
we had not looked out for ourselves; as it was, we all drank a great
deal and were very merry. We were in a room by ourselves, and when
we had been there nearly an hour, it occurred to Margaret that it
would be a good idea to humor the old lady's dry joke about the
danger of our getting married during this visit to Troy.

"Henry," said she to my son; "Go out and ask the woman who keeps the
saloon where you can get a blank marriage certificate, and then get
one and bring it here, and we'll have some fun."

We were all just drunk enough to see that there was a joke in it,
and we urged the boy to go. He went to the woman, who directed him
to a stationer's opposite, and presently he came in with a blank
marriage certificate. We called for pen and ink and he sat down and
filled out the blank form putting in my name and Margaret Bradley's,
signing it with some odd name I have forgotten as that of the
clergyman performing the ceremony. He then signed his own name as a
witness to the marriage, and the young woman who was with us also
witnessed it with her signature. We had a great deal of fun over it,
then more wine, and then it was time for us to hurry to the depot to
take the six o'clock train for Rutland.

Reaching home at about eleven o'clock at night, we found the old
lady up, and waiting for Margaret. We went in and Margaret's first
words were:

"Well, mother! I'm married; I told you, you know, I thought I should
be; and here's my certificate."

The mother expressed no surprise-she knew her daughter better than I
did, then-but quietly congratulated her, while I said not a single
word. My son went to see his companion home, and, as I had not
achieved this latest greatness, but had it thrust upon me, I and my
new found "wife" went to our room. The next day I removed from the
hotel to Margaret's house and remained there during my residence in
Rutland, she introducing me to her friends as her husband, and
seeming to consider it an established fact.

Three weeks after this mock marriage, however, I told Margaret that
I was going to travel about the State a while to sell my medicines,
and that I might be absent for some time. She made no objections,
and as I was going with my own team she asked me to take some
mantillas and a few other goods which were a little out of fashion,
and see if I could not sell them for her. To be sure I would, and we
parted on the best of terms.

Behold rue now, not only a medical man and a marrying man, but also
a man milliner. When I could not dispose of my medicines, I tried
mantillas, and in the course of my tour I sold the whole of
Margaret's wares, faithfully remitting to her the money for the
same. I think she would have put her whole stock of goods on me to
work off in the same way; but I never gave her the opportunity to do
so.

My journeying brought me at last to Montpelier where I proposed to
stay awhile and see if I could establish a practice. I had disposed
of my millinery goods and had nothing to attend to but my medicines
-alas that my professional acquirements as a marrying man should
again have been called in requisition. But it was to be. It was my
fate to fall into the hands of another milliner.

"Insatiate monster! would not one suffice?"

It seems not. There was a milliner at Rutland whose family and,
friends all believed to be my wife, though she knew she was not; and
here in Montpelier, was ready waiting, like a spider for a fly,
another milliner who was about to enmesh me in the matrimonial net.
I had not been in the place a week before I became acquainted with
Eliza Gurnsey. I could hardly help it, for she lived in the hotel
where I stopped, and although she was full thirty-five years old,
she was altogether the most attractive woman in the house. She was
agreeable, good-looking, intelligent, and what the vernacular calls
"smart." At all events, she was much too smart for me, as I soon
found out.

She had a considerable millinery establishment which she and her
younger sister carried on, employing several women, and she was
reputed to be well off. Strange as it may seem in the light of after
events, she actually belonged to the church and was a regular
attendant at the services. But no woman in town was more talked
about, and precisely what sort of a woman she was may be estimated
from the fact that I had known her but little more than a week, when
she proposed that she, her sister and I should go to Saratoga
together, and have a good time for a day or two.

I was fairly fascinated with the woman and I consented. The younger
sister was taken with us, I thought at first as a cover, I knew
afterwards as a confederate, and Eliza paid all the bills, which
were by no means small ones, of the entire trip. We stopped in
Saratoga at a hotel, which is now in very different hands, but which
was then kept by proprietors who, in addition to a most excellent
table and accommodations, afforded their guests the opportunity, if
they desired it, of attending prayers every night and morning in one
of the parlors. This may have been the inducement which made Eliza
insist upon going to this house, but I doubt it.

For our stay at Saratoga, three or four days, was one wild revel. We
rode about, got drunk, went to the Lake, came back to the hotel, and
the second day we were there, Eliza sent her sister for a
Presbyterian minister, whose address she had somehow secured, and
this minister came to the hotel and married us. I presume I
consented, I don't know, for I was too much under the effect of
liquor to know much of anything. I have an indistinct recollection
of some sort of a ceremony, and afterwards Eliza showed me a
certificate-no Troy affair, but a genuine document signed by a
minister residing in Saratoga, and witnessed by her sister and some
one in the hotel who had been called in. But the whole was like a
dream to me; it was the plot of an infamous woman to endeavor to
make herself respectable by means of a marriage, no matter to whom
or how that marriage was effected.

Meanwhile, the Montpelier papers had the whole story, one of them
publishing a glowing account of my elopement with Miss Gurnsey, and
the facts of our marriage at Saratoga was duly chronicled. This
paper fell into the hands of Miss Bradley, at Rutland, and as she
claimed to be my wife, and had parted with me only a little while
before, when I went out to peddle medicines and millinery, her
feelings can be imagined. She read the story and then aroused all
Rutland. I had not been back from Saratoga half an hour before I was
arrested in the public house in Montpelier and taken before a
magistrate, on complaint of Miss Bradley, of Rutland, that I was
guilty of bigamy.

The examination was a long one, and as the facts which were then
shown appeared afterwards in my trial they need not be noted now. I
had two first-rate lawyers, but for all that, and with the plainest
showing that Margaret Bradley had no claim whatever to be considered
my wife, I was bound over in the sum of three thousand dollars to
appear for trial, and was sent to jail. There was a tremendous
excitement about the matter, and the whole town seemed interested.

To jail I went, Eliza going with me, and insisting upon staying; but
the jailer would not let her, nor was she permitted to visit me
during my entire stay there, at least she got in to see me but once.
I made every effort to get bail, but was unsuccessful. Eight long
weary months elapsed before my trial came on, and all this while I
was in jail. My trial lasted a week. The Bradley woman knew she was
no more married to me than she was to the man in the moon; but she
swore stoutly that we were actually wedded according to the
certificate. On the other hand, my son swore to all the facts about
the Troy spree, and his buying and filling out the certificate,
which showed for itself that, excepting the signature of the young
woman who also witnessed it, it was entirely in Henry's handwriting.
I should have got along well enough so far as the Bradley woman was
concerned; but the prosecution had been put in possession of all the
facts relative to my first and worst marriage, and the whole matter
came up in this case. The District Attorney had sent everywhere, as
far even as Illinois, for witness with regard to that marriage. It
seemed as if all Vermont was against me. I have heard that with the
cost of witnesses and other expenses, my trial cost the state more
than five thousand dollars. My three lawyers could not save me.
After a week's trial the case went to the jury, and in four hours
they returned a verdict of "guilty."

My counsel instantly appealed the case to the Supreme Court, and,
meanwhile I went back to jail where I remained three months more. A
few days after I returned to jail a friend of mine managed to
furnish me with files and saws, and I went industriously to work at
the gratings of my window to saw my way out. I could work only at
night, when the keepers were away, and I covered the traces of my
cuttings by filling in with tallow. In two months I had everything
in readiness for my escape. An hour's more sawing at the bars would
set me free. But just at that time the Governor of the State,
Fletcher, made a visit to the jail. I told him all about my case. He
assured me, after hearing all the circumstances, that if I should be
convicted and sentenced, he would surely pardon me in the course of
six or eight weeks. Trusting in this promise, I made no further
effort to escape though I could have done so easily any night; but
rather than run the risk of recapture, and a heavier sentence if I
should be convicted, I awaited the chances of the court, and looked
beyond for the clemency of the Governor.

Well, finally my case came up in the Supreme Court. It only occupied
a day, and the result was that I was sentenced for three years in
the State prison. I was remanded to jail, and five days from that
time I was taken from Montpelier to Windsor.






CHAPTER X.

PRISON-LIFE IN VERMONT.

ENTERING PRISON-THE SCYTHE SNATH BUSINESS-BLISTERED HANDS-I LEARN
NOTHING-THREAT TO KILL THE SHOP-KEEPER-LOCKSMITHING-OPEN
REBELLION-SIX WEEKS IN THE DUNGEON-ESCAPE OF A PRISONER-IN THE
DUNGEON AGAIN-THE MAD MAN, HALL-HE ATTEMPTS TO MURDER THE DEPUTY-I
SAVE MOREY'S LIFE-HOWLING IN THE BLACK HOLE-TAKING OFF HALL'S
IRONS-A GHASTLY SPECTACLE-A PRISON FUNERAL-I AM LET ALONE-BETTER
TREATMENT-THE FULL TERM OF MY IMPRISONMENT.





We arrived at Windsor and I was safely inside of the prison at three
o'clock in the afternoon. Warden Harlow met me with a joke, to the
effect that, had it not been for my handcuffs he should have taken
the officer who brought me, to be the prisoner, I was so much the
better dressed of the two. He then talked very seriously to me for a
long time. He was sorry, and surprised, he said, to see a man of my
appearance brought to such a place for such a crime; he could not
understand how a person of my evident intelligence should get into
such a scrape.

I told him that he understood it as well as I did, at all events;
that I could not conceive why I should get into these difficulties,
one after the other; but that I believed I was a crazy man on this
one subject-matrimonial monomania; that when I had gone through with
one of these scrapes, and had suffered the severe punishment that
was almost certain to follow, the whole was like a dream to me-a
nightmare and nothing more. With regard to what was before me in
this prison I should try and behave myself, and make the best of the
situation; but I notified the Warden that I did not mean to do one
bit of work if I could help it.

He took me inside, where my fine clothes were taken away, and I. was
dressed in the usual particolored prison uniform. I was told the
rules, and was warned that if I did not observe them it would go
hard with me. Then followed twenty-four hours solitary confinement,
and the next afternoon I was taken from my cell to a shop in which
scythe snaths were made.

It had transpired during my trial at Montpelier, that when I was a
young man, I was a blacksmith by trade. This information had been
transmitted to prison and I was at once put to work making heel
rings. It was some years since I had worked at a forge and handled a
hammer. Consequently, in three or four days, my hands were terribly
blistered, and as the Warden happened to come into the shop, I
showed them to him, and quietly told him that I would do that work
no longer. He told me that I must do it; he would make me do it. I
answered that he might kill me, or punish me in any way he pleased,
but he could not make me do that kind of labor, and I threw down my
hammer and refused to work a moment longer.

The Warden left me and sent Deputy Warden Morey to try me. He
approached me in a kindly way, and I showed my blistered hands to
him. He thought that was the way to "toughen" me. I thought not, and
said so, and, moreover, told him I would never make another heel
ring in that prison, and I never did.

He sent me to my cell and I stayed there a week, till my hands were
well. Then the Deputy came to me and asked me if I was willing to
learn to hew out scythe snaths in the rough for the shavers, who
finished them? I said I would try. I went into the shop and was
shown how the work was to be done. Every man was expected to hew out
fifty snaths in a day. In three or four days the shop-keeper came
and overlooked me while I was working in my bungling way, and said
if I couldn't do better than that I must clear out of his shop and
do something else. My reply was that I did not understand the
business, and had no desire or intention to learn it. He sent for
the Deputy Warden, who came and expressed the opinion that I could
not do anything. I said I was willing to do anything I could
understand.

"Do you understand anything?" asked the Deputy.

"Well, some things, marrying for instance," was my answer.

"I want no joking or blackguardism about this matter," said the
Deputy; "them simple fact is, you've got to work; if you don't we'll
make you."

So I kept on at hewing, making no improvement, and in a day or two
more the shopkeeper undertook to show me how the work should be
done. I protested I never could learn it.

"You don't try; and I have a good mind to punish you."

The moment the shop-keeper said it I dropped the snath, raised my
axe, and told him that if he came one step nearer to me I would make
mincemeat of him. He thought it was advisable to stay where he was;
but one of the prison-keepers was in the shop, and as he came toward
me I warned him that he had better keep away.

All the men in the shop were ready to break out in insubordination;
when I threatened the shop keeper and the guard, they cheered; the
Deputy Warden was soon on the ground; he stood in the doorway a
moment, and then, in a kind tone called me to him. I had no
immediate quarrel with him, and so I dropped my axe and went to him.
He told me that there was no use of "making a muss" there, it
incited the other prisoners to insubordination, and was sure to
bring severe punishment upon myself. "Go and get your cap and coat,"
said he "and come with me."

"But if you are going to put me into that black hole of yours," I
exclaimed, "I won't go; you'll have to draw me there or kill me on
the way."

He promised he would not put me in the dungeon, he was only going to
put me in my cell, he said, and to my cell I went, willingly enough,
and stayed there a week, during which time I suppose everyone of my
shopmates thought I was in the dungeon, undergoing severe punishment
for my rebellions conduct.

I had learned now the worst lesson which a prisoner can learn-that
is, that my keepers were afraid of me. To a limited extent, it is
true, I was now my own master and keeper. In a few days Deputy Morey
came to me and asked me if I was "willing" to come out and work. I
was sick of solitary confinement, and longed to see the faces of
men, even prisoners: so I told him if I could get any work I could
do I was willing to try it, and would do as well as I knew how. He
asked me if I knew anything of locksmithing? I told him I had some
taste for it, and if he would show me his job I would let him see
what I could do.

The fact is, I was a very fair amateur locksmith, and had quite a
fondness for fixing, picking, and fussing generally over locks.
Accordingly, when he gave me a lock to work upon to make it "play
easier," as he described it, I did the job so satisfactorily that I
had nearly every lock in the prison to take off and operate upon, if
it was nothing more than to clean and oil one. This business
occupied my entire time and attention for nearly three months. Then
I repaired iron bedsteads, did other iron work, and I was the
general tinker of the prison.

It came into my head, however, one day, that I might as well do
nothing. The prison fare was indescribably bad, almost as bad as the
jail fare at Easton. We lived upon the poorest possible salt beef
for dinner, varied now and then with plucks and such stuff from the
slaughter houses, with nothing but bread and rye coffee for
breakfast and supper, and mush and molasses perhaps twice a week.

I was daily abused, too, by the Warden, his Deputy, and his keepers.
They looked upon me as an ugly, insubordinate, refractory,
rebellious rascal, who was ready to kill any of them, and, worst of
all, who would not work. I determined to confirm their minds in the
latter supposition, and so one day I threw down my tools and refused
to do another thing.

They dragged me to the dungeon and thrust me in. It was a wretched
dark hole, with a little dirty straw in one corner to lie upon. My
entire food and drink was bread and water. The man who brought it
never spoke to me. His face was the only one I saw during the
livelong day. Day and night were alike to me; I lost the run of
time; but at long intervals, once in eight or ten days, I suppose,
the Deputy came to this hole and asked me if I would come out and
work.

"No, no!" I always answered, "never!" Then I paced the stone floor
in the dark, or lay on my straw. I lay there till my hips were worn
raw. No human being can conceive the agony, the suffering endured in
this dungeon. At last I was nearly blind, and was scarcely able to
stand up. I presume that the attendant who brought my daily dole of
bread and my cup of water, reported my condition. One day the door
opened and I was ordered out. They were obliged to bring me out; I
was so reduced that I was but the shadow of myself. They meant to
cure my obstinacy or to kill me, and had not quite succeeded in
doing either.

There was no use in asking me if I would go to work then; I was just
alive. A few days in my own cell, in the daylight, and with
something beside bread and water to eat, partially restored me. I
was then taken into the shop where the snaths were finished by
scraping and varnishing, the lightest part of the work, but I would
not learn, would not do, would not try to do anything at all. They
gave me up. The whole struggle nearly killed me, but I beat them. I
was turned into the halls and told to do what I could, which, I knew
well enough, meant what I would.

After that I worked about the halls and yard, sometimes sweeping,
and again carrying something, or doing errands for the keepers from
one part of the prison to another. I was what theatrical managers
call a general utility man, and, not at all strangely, for it is
human nature, now that I could do what I pleased, I pleased to do a
great deal, and was tolerably useful, and far more agreeable than I
had been in the past.

There was a young fellow, twenty-two years of age, in one of the
cells, serving out a sentence of six years. When I was sweeping
around I used to stop and talk to him every day. One day he was
missing. He had been supposed to be sick or asleep for several
hours, for apparently lie lay in bed, and was lying very still. But
that was only an ingeniously constructed dummy. The young man
himself had made a hole under his bed into an adjoining vacant cell,
the door of which stood open. He had crawled through his hole, come
out of the vacant cell door, and gone up to the prison garret, where
he found some old pieces of rope. These he tied together, and
getting out at the cupola upon the roof, he managed to let himself
down on the outside of the building and got away. He was never
recaptured. The Warden said that some one must have told him about
the adjoining vacant cell, with its always open door, else how would
the young man have known it?

I was accused of imparting this valuable information, and I suffered
four weeks' confinement in that horrible dungeon on the mere
suspicion. This made ten weeks in all of my prison-life in a hole in
which I suffered so that I hoped I should die there.

One of the prisoners was a desperate man, named Hall. He was a
convicted murderer, and was sentenced for life. He too, worked about
in the prison and the yards, dragging or carrying a heavy ball and
chain. When bundles of snaths were to be carried from one shop to
the other in the various processes of finishing, Hall had to do it,
and to carry his ball and chain as well, so that he was loaded like
a pack-horse. No pack-horse was ever so abused.

Of course he was ugly; the wardens and the keepers knew it, and
generally kept away from him.

I talked with him more than once, and he told me that with better
treatment he should be a better man. "Look at the loads which are
put on me every day," he would say; as if this ball and chain were
not as much as I can carry; and this for life, for life!

One day when Hall and I were working together in the prison, Deputy
Warden Morey came in and said something to him, and in a moment the
man sprung upon him. He had secured somehow, perhaps he had picked
it up in the yard, a pocket knife, and with this he stabbed the
Warden, striking him in the shoulder, arm, and where he could.

Morey was a man sixty-five years of age, and he made such resistance
as he could, crying out loudly for help. I turned, ran to Hall, and
with one blow of my fist knocked him nearly senseless; then help
came and we secured the mad man. Morey was profuse in protestations
of gratitude to me for saving his life.

There was a great excitement over this attempt to murder the Deputy,
and for a few hours, with wardens and keepers, I was a hero. I had
been in the prison more than a year, and was generally regarded as
one of the worst prisoners, one of the "hardest cases;" a mere
chance had suddenly made me one of the most commendable men within
those dreary walls. As for Hall, he was taken to the dungeon and
securely chained by the feet to a ring in the center of the stone
floor. There is no doubt whatever that the man was a raving maniac.
He howled night and day so that he could be heard everywhere in the
prison-"Murder, murder! they are murdering me in this black hole;
why don't they take me out and kill me?"

The Warden said it could not be helped; that the man must be kept
there; he was dangerous to himself and others; the dark cell was the
only place for him. So Hall stayed there and howled, his cries
growing weaker from day to day; by-and-by we heard him only at
intervals, and after that not at all.

One morning there was a little knot of men around the open dungeon
door, the Deputy Warden and two or three keepers. Mr. Morey called
to me to go and get the tools and come there and take off Hall's
irons. I went into the cell and in a few minutes I unfastened his
feet from the ring; then I took the shackles off his limbs. I
thought he held his legs very stiff, but knew he was obstinate, and
only wondered he was so quiet.

Somebody brought in a candle and I looked at Hall's face. I never
saw a more ghastly sight. The blood from his mouth and nostrils had
clotted on the lower part of his face, and his wild eyes, fixed and
glassy, were staring at the top wall of the dungeon. He must have
been dead several hours. The Depu ty and the rest knew he was
dead-the man who carried in the bread and water told them-me it came
with a shock from which I did not soon recover.

They buried Hall in the little graveyard which was in the yard of
the prison. An Episcopal clergyman, who was chaplain of the prison,
read the burial service over him. The prisoners were brought out to
attend the homely funeral. The ball and chain, all the personal
property left by Hall, were put aside for the next murderer
sentenced for life, or for the next "ugly" prisoner. "If I were only
treated better, and not abused so, I should be a better man." This
is what Hall used to say to me whenever he had an opportunity. The
last and worst and best in that prison had been done for him now.

From the day when I rescued Morey from the hands of Hall, his whole
manner changed towards me, and he treated me with great kindness,
frequently bringing me a cup of tea or coffee, and something good to
eat. He also promised to present the circumstances of the Hall
affair to the Governor, and to urge my pardon, but I do not think he
ever did so, at least I heard nothing of it. When I pressed the
matter upon Morey's attention he said it would do no good till I had
served out half my sentence, and then he would see what could be
done.

I served half my sentence, and then the other half, every day of it.
But during the last two years I had very little to complain of
except the loss of my liberty. I was put into the cook shop where I
could get better food, and I did pretty much what I pleased. By
general consent I was let alone. They had found out that ill usage
only made me "ugly," while kindness made me at least behave myself.
And so the three weary years of my confinement were on to an end.





CHAPTER XI.

ON THE TRAMP.

THE DAY OF MY DELIVERANCE-OUT OF CLOTHES-SHARING WITH A BEGGAR-A
GOOD FRIEND-TRAMPING THROUGH THE SNOW-WEARY WALKS-TRUSTING TO LUCK-
COMFORT AT CONCORD-AT MEREDITH BRIDGE-THE BLAISDELLS-LAST OF THE
"BLOSSOM" BUSINESS-MAKING MONEY AT PORTSMOUTH-REVISITING WINDSOR-AN
ASTONISHED WARDEN-MAKING FRIENDS OF OLD ENEMIES-INSPECTING THE
PRISON-GOING TO PORT JERVIS.





At last the happy day of my deliverance came. The penalty for
pretending to marry one milliner and for being married by another
milliner was paid. My sentence was fulfilled. I had looked forward
to this day for months. Of all my jail and prison life in different
States, this in Vermont was the hardest, the most severe. My
obstinacy, no doubt, did much at first to enhance my sufferings, and
it was the accident only of my saving Morey's life that made the
last part of my imprisonment a little more tolerable. When I was
preparing to go, it was discovered that the fine suit of clothes I
wore into the prison had been given by mistake or design to some one
else, and my silk hat and calf-skin boots had gone with the clothes.
But never mind! I would have gone out into the world in rags-my
liberty was all I wanted then. The Warden gave me one of his own old
coats, a ragged pair of pantaloons, and a new pair of brogan shoes.
He also gave me three dollars, which was precisely a dollar a year
for my services, and this was more than I ever meant to earn there.
Thus equipped and supplied I was sent out into the streets of
Windsor.

I had not gone half a mile before I met a poor old woman whom I had
known very well in Rutland. She recognized me at once, though I know
I was sadly changed for the worse. She was on her way to Fall River,
where she had relatives, and where she hoped for help, but had no
money to pay her fare, so I divided my small stock with her, and
that left me just one dollar and a half with which to begin the
world again. I went down to the bridge and the toll-gatherer gave me
as much as I could eat, twenty five cents in money, and a
pocket-full of food to carry with me. I was heading, footing rather,
for Meredith Bridge in New Hampshire. It was in the month of
December; and I was poorly clad and without an overcoat. I must
have walked fifteen miles that afternoon, and just at nightfall I
came to a wayside public house and ventured to go in. As I stood by
the fire, the landlord stepped up and slapping me on the shoulder,
said:

"Friend, you look as if you were in trouble; step up and have
something to drink."

I gladly accepted the invitation to partake of the first glass of
liquor I had tasted in three years. It was something, too,
everything to be addressed thus kindly. I told this worthy landlord
my whole story; how I had been trapped by the two milliners, and how
I had subsequently suffered. He had read something about it in the
papers; he felt as if he knew me; he certainly was sorry for me; and
he proved his sympathy by giving me what then seemed to me the best
supper I had ever eaten, a good bed, a good breakfast, a package of
provisions to carry with me, and then sent me on my way with a
comparatively light heart.

It rained, snowed, and drizzled all day long. I tramped through the
wet snow ankle deep, but made nearly forty miles before night, and
then came to a public house which I knew well. When I was in the
bar-room drying myself and warming my wet and half-frozen feet, I
could not but think how, only a few years before, I had put up at
that very house, with a fine horse and buggy of my own in the
stable, and plenty of money in my pocket. The landlord's face was
familiar enough, but he did not know me, nor, under my changed
circumstances, did I desire that he should. Supper, lodging, and
breakfast nearly exhausted my small money capital; I was worn and
weary, too, and the next day was able to walk but twenty miles, all
told. On the way, at noon I went into a farm house to warm myself.
The woman had just baked a short-cake which stood on the hearth,
toward which I must have cast longing eyes, for the farmer said:

"Have you had your dinner, man?"

"No, and I have no money to buy any."

"Well, you don't need money here. Wife, put that short-cake and some
butter on the table; now, my man, fall to and eat as much as you
like."

I was very hungry, and I declare I ate the whole of that short-cake.
I told these people that I had been in better circumstances, and
that I was not always the poor, ragged, hungry wretch I appeared
then. They made we welcome to what I had eaten and when I went away
filled my pockets with food. At night I was about thirty miles above
Concord. I had no money, but trusting to luck, I got on the cars
-the conductor came, and when he found I had no ticket, he said he
must put me off. It was a bitter night and I told him I should be
sure to freeze to death. A gentleman who heard the conversation at
once paid my fare, for which I expressed my grateful thanks, and I
went to Concord.

On my arrival I went to a hotel and told the landlord I wanted to
stay there till the next day, when a conductor whom I knew would be
going to Meredith Bridge; that I was going with him, and that he
would probably pay my bill at the hotel. "All right," said the
landlord, and he gave me my supper and a room. The next noon my
friend, the conductor, came and when I first spoke to him he did not
recognize me; I told him who I was, but to ask me no questions as to
how I came to appear in those old clothes, and to be so poor; I
wanted to borrow five dollars, and to go with him to Meredith
Bridge. He greeted me very cordially, handed me a ten-dollar
Bill--twice as much as I asked for--said he was not going to the
Bridge till next day, and told me meanwhile, to go to the hotel and
make myself comfortable.

I went back to the hotel, paid my bill, stayed there that day and
night, and the next morning "deadheaded," with my friend the
conductor to Meredith Bridge. Everybody knew me there. The
hotel-keeper made me welcome to his house, and said I could stay as
long as I liked.

"Say, dew ye ever cure anybody, Doctor?" asked my old friend, the
landlord, and he laughed and nudged me in the ribs, and asked me to
take some of his medicine from the bar, which I immediately did.

I was at home now. But the object of my visit was to see if I could
not collect some of my old bills in that neighborhood, amounting in
the aggregate to several hundred dollars. They were indeed old bills
of five or six years' standing, and I had very little hope of
collecting much money. I went first to Lake Village, and called on
Mr. John Blaisdell, the husband of the woman whom I had cured of the
dropsy, in accordance, as she believed at the time, with her
prophetic dream. Blaisdell didn't know me at first; then he wanted
to know what my bill was; I told him one hundred dollars, to say
nothing of six years' interest; he said he had no money, though he
was regarded as a rich man, and in fact was.

"But sir," said I, "you see me and how poor I am. Give me something
on account. I am so poor that I even borrowed this overcoat from the
tailor in the village, that I might present a little more
respectable appearance when I called on my old patients to try to
collect some of my old bills. Please to give me something."

But he had no money. He would pay for the overcoat; I might tell the
tailor so; and afterwards he gave me a pair of boots and an old
shirt. This was the fruit which my "blossom" of years before brought
at last. I saw Mrs. Blaisdell, but she said she could do nothing for
me. She had forgotten what I had done for her.

Of all my bills in that vicinity, with a week's dunning, I collected
only three dollars; but a good friend of mine, Sheriff Hill, went
around and succeeded in making up a purse of twenty dollars which he
put into my hands just as I was going away. My old landlord wanted
nothing for my week's board; all he wanted was to know "if I ever
cured anybody;" and when I told him I did, "sometimes" he insisted
upon my taking more of his medicine, and he put up a good bottle of
it for me to carry with me on my journey.

With my twenty dollars I went to Portsmouth, where I speedily felt
that I was among old and true friends. I had not been there a day
before I was called upon to take care of a young man who was sick,
and after a few weeks charge of him I received in addition to my
board and expenses, three hundred dollars. I was now enabled to
clothe myself handsomely, and I did so and went to Newburyport,
where I remained several weeks and made a great deal of money.

In the spring I went to White River Junction, and while I was in the
hotel taking a drink with some friends, who should come into the
bar-room but the Lake Village tailor from whom I had borrowed the
overcoat which I had even then on my back. I was about to thank him
for his kindness to me when he took me aside and said reproachfully:

"Doctor, you wore away my overcoat and this is it, I think."

"Good heavens! didn't John Blaisdell pay you for the coat? He told
me he would; its little enough out of what he owes me."

"He never said a word to me about it," was the reply. I told the
tailor the circumstances; I did not like to let him to know that I
had then about seven hundred dollars in my pocket; I wished to
appear poor as long as there was a chance to collect any of my
Meredith and Lake Village bills; so I offered him three dollars to
take back the coat. He willingly consented and that was the last of
the "Blossom" business with the Blaisdells.

I was bound not to leave this part of the country without revisiting
Windsor, and I went there, stopping at the best house in the town,
and, I fear, "putting on airs" a little. I had suffered so much in
this place that I wanted to see if there was any enjoyment to be had
there. Satisfaction there was, certainly-the satisfaction one feels
in going back under the most favorable circumstances, to a spot
where he has endured the very depths of misery. After a good dinner
I set out to visit the prison. Here was the very spot in the street
where, only a few months before, I, a ragged beggar, had divided my
mere morsel of money with the poor woman from Rutland. What change
in my circumstances those few months had wrought. I had recovered my
health which bad food, ill usage, and imprisonment had broken down,
and was in the best physical condition. The warden's old coat and
pantaloons had been exchanged for the finest clothes that money
would buy. I had a good gold watch and several hundred dollars in my
pocket. I had seen many of my old friends, and knew that they were
still my friends, and I was fully restored to my old position. My
three years' imprisonment was only a blank in my existence; I had
begun life again and afresh, precisely where I left off before I
fell into the hands of the two Vermont milliners.

All this was very pleasant to reflect upon; but do not believe I
thought even then, that the reason for this change in my
circumstances, and changes for the better, was simply because I had
minded my business and had let women alone.

When I called on Warden Harlow, and courteously asked to be shown
about the prison, he got up and was ready to comply with my request,
when he looked me full in the face and started back in amazement:

"Well, I declare! Is this you?"

"Yes, Warden Harlow; but I want you to understand that while I am
here I do not intend to do a bit of work, and you can't make me. You
may as well give it up first as last; I won't work anyhow."

The Warden laughed heartily, and sent for Deputy Morey who came in
to "see a gentleman," and was much astonished to find the prisoner,
who, two years before, had saved his life from the hands and knife
of the madman Hall. I spent a very pleasant hour with my old
enemies, and I took occasion to give them a hint or two with regard
to the proper treatment of prisoners. I then made the rounds of the
prison, and went into the dungeon where I had passed so many
wretched hours for weeks at a time. The warden and his deputy
congratulated me upon my improved appearance and prospects, and
hoped that my whole future career would be equally prosperous.

Nor did I forget to call up my friend in need and friend indeed in
the toll-house at the bridge. I stayed three or four days in
Windsor, finding it really a charming place, and I was almost sorry
to leave it. But my only purpose in going there, that is to revisit
the prison, was accomplished, and I started for New York, and went
from there to Port Jervis, where I met my eldest son.






CHAPTER XII.

ATTEMPT TO KIDNAP SARAH SCHEIMER'S BOY.

STARTING TO SEE SARAH-THE LONG SEPARATION-WHAT I LEARNED ABOUT
HER-HER DRUNKEN HUSBAND-CHANGE OF PLAN-A SUDDENLY-FORMED SCHEME-I
FIND SARAH'S SON-THE FIRST INTERVIEW-RESOLVE TO KIDNAP THE BOY-
REMONSTRANCES OF MY SON HENRY-THE ATTEMPT-A DESPERATE STRUGGLE-THE
RESCUE-ARREST OF HENRY-MY FLIGHT INTO PENNSYLVANIA-SENDING
ASSISTANCE TO MY SON-RETURN TO PORT JERVIS-BAILING HENRY-HIS RETURN
TO BELVIDERE-HE IS BOUND OVER TO BE TRIED FOR KIDNAPPING-MY FOLLY.





After I had been in Port Jervis three or four days I matured a plan
that had long been forcing in my mind, and that was, to try and see
Sarah Scheimer once more, or at least to find out something about
her and about our son. The boy, if he was living, must be about ten
years of age. I had never seen him; nor, since the night when I was
taken out of bed and carried to the Easton jail had I ever seen
Sarah, or even heard from her, except by the message the Methodist
minister brought to me from her the day after I was released from
jail. In the long interval I had married the Newark widow, and had
served a brief term in the New Jersey State prison for doing it; I
had married Mary Gordon, in New Hampshire, and had run away, not
only from her, but from constables and the prison in that state; the
mock marriage with the Rutland woman at Troy, and the altogether too
real marriage with the Montpelier milliner had followed; I had spent
three wretched years in the Vermont prison at Windsor; and numerous
other exciting adventures had checkered my career. What had happened
to Sarah and her son during all this while? There was not a week in
the whole time since our sudden separation when I had not thought of
Sarah; and now I was near her old home, with means at my command,
leisure on my hands, and I was determined to know something about
her and the child.

So long a time had elapsed and I was so changed in my personal
appearance that I had little fear of being recognized by any one in
Pennsylvania or the adjoining part of New Jersey, who would molest
me. The old matters must have been pretty much forgotten by all but
the very few who were immediately interested in them. It was safe to
make the venture at all events, and, I resolved to make the venture
to see and learn what I could.

I had the idea in my mind that if Sarah was alive and well, and
free, I should be able to induce her to fulfil her promise to come
to me, and that we might go somewhere and settle down and live
happily together. At any rate, I would try to see her and our child.

I did not communicate a word of all this to my son Henry. I told him
I was going to New Jersey to visit some friends, to look for
business, and I would like to have him accompany me. He consented;
I hired a horse and carriage, and one bright morning we started. I
had no friends to visit, no business to do, except to see Sarah-the
dearest and best-loved of all my wives.

When we reached Water Gap I found an old acquaintance in the
landlord of the hotel, and I told him where I was going, and what I
hoped to do. He knew the Scheimers, knew all that had happened
eleven years before, and he told me that Sarah had married again,
seven years ago, and was the mother of two more children. She lived
on a farm, half a mile from Oxford, and her husband who had married
her for her money, and had been urged upon her by her parents, was a
shiftless, worthless, drunken fellow. The boy-my boy-was alive and
well, and was with his mother.

This intelligence changed, or rather made definite my plan. Sarah
was nothing to me now. The boy was everything. I must see him, and
if he was what he was represented to be, a bright little fellow, I
determined that he should no longer remain in the hands and under
the control of his drunken step-father, but I would carry him away
with me if I could. It was nearly noon when we arrived at Oxford,
and going to my old quarters, I found that "Boston Yankee," had long
since left the place. There was a new landlord, and I saw no
familiar faces about the house; all was new and strange to me. I
made inquiries, and soon found out that Sarah's boy went to a school
in town not far from the hotel, and I went there to "prospect,"
leaving Henry at the public house.

It was noon now, and fifty or more boys were trooping out of school.
I carefully scanned the throng. The old proverb has it that it is a
wise child who knows its own father; but it is not so difficult for
a father to know his own children. The moment I put my eyes on
Sarah's son, I knew him; he was the very image of me; I could have
picked him out of a thousand. I beckoned to the boy and he came to
me. He was barefoot; and his very toes betrayed him, for they
"overrode" just as mine did; but his face was enough and would have
been evidence of his identity as my son in any court in Christendom.

"Do you know me, my little man?" said I.

"No, sir, I do not."

"Do you know what was your mother's name before she was married?"

"Yes Sir, it was Sarah Scheimer."

"Do you know that the man with whom you live is not your rather?"

"Oh, yes, Sir, I know that; mother always told me so; but she never
told me who my father was."

"My son," said I taking him in my arms, "I am your father; wait
about here a few minutes till I can go and get my horse and
carriage, and I will take you to ride."

I ran over to the hotel; ordered my horse to be brought to the door
at once, got into the wagon with Henry and told him that Sarah
Scheimer's boy was just across the way, and that I was going to
carry him off with us. Henry implored me not to do it, and said it
was dangerous. I never stopped to think of danger when my will
impelled me. I did not know that at that moment, men who had noticed
my excited manner, and who knew I was "up to something," were
watching me from the hotel piazza. I drove over where the boy was
waiting, called him to me, and Henry held the reins while I put out
my hands to pull the boy into the carriage. Two of the men who were
watching me came at once, one of them taking the horse by the head,
and the other coming to me and demanding:

"What are you going to do with that boy?"

"Take him with me; he is my son."

"No you don't," said the man, and he laid hold of the boy and
attempted to pull him out of the wagon. I also seized the lad who
began to scream. In the struggle for possession, I caught up the
whip and struck the man with the handle, felling him to the ground.
All the while the other man was shouting for assistance. The crowd
gathered. The boy was roughly torn from me, in spite of my efforts
to retain him. Henry was thoroughly alarmed; and while the mob were
trying to pull us also out of the carriage he whipped the horse till
he sprang through the crowd and was well off in a moment.

"Get out of town as fast as you can drive," said I to Henry.

We were not half an hour in reaching Belvidere. There I stopped to
breathe the horse a few minutes, and Henry insisted that he was
starving, and must have something to eat; he would go into the hotel
he said, and get some dinner. I told him it was madness to do it;
but he would not move an inch further on the road till he had some
dinner. He went into the dining room, and I paced up and down the
piazza, nervous, anxious, fearing pursuit, dreading capture, well
knowing what would happen when those Jerseymen should get hold of me
and find out who I was. At that moment I saw the pursuers coming
rapidly up the road. I called to my son:

"Henry, Henry! for God's sake come out here, quick!"

But he thought I was only trying to frighten him so as to hurry him
away from his dinner, and get him on the road, and he paid no
attention to my summons. I knew that I was the man who was wanted,
and, without waiting for Henry, I jumped into my wagon and drove
off. I just escaped, that's all. The moment I left, my pursuers were
at the door. I looked back and saw them drag my son out of the
house, and take him away with them. I turned my horse's head towards
the Belvidere Bridge. All the country about there was as familiar to
me as the county I was born in. I knew every road, and I had no fear
of being caught. Once across the bridge and in Pennsylvania, and I
was comparatively safe, unless I myself should be kidnapped as I was
at midnight, only a little way from this very spot, eleven years
before. Here was an opportunity now to rest and reflect. Confound
those Scheimers and all their blood! Was I never to see the end of
the scrapes that family would get me into, or which I was to get
myself into, on account of the Scheimers?

Surely they could not harm Henry. They might have taken him merely
in the hope of drawing me back to try to clear him, or rescue him,
and then they would get hold of the man they wanted. My son had done
nothing. He did not even know of the contemplated abduction till
five minutes before it was attempted, and then he protested against
it. He only held the horse when I pulled the lad into the wagon.

Nothing showed so completely the consciousness of his own entire
innocence in the matter, as the coolness with which he sat down to
his dinner in Belvidere, and insisted upon remaining when I warned
him of our danger. These facts shown, any magistrate before whom
he might be taken, must let him go at once. I thought, perhaps, if I
waited a few hours where I was, he would be sure to rejoin me, and
we could then return to Port Jervis without Sarah's son to be sure;
but, otherwise, no worse off than we were when we set out on this
ill-starred expedition in the morning.

All this seemed so plain to me that I sent over to Belvidere for a
lawyer, who soon came across the bridge to see me, and to him I
narrated the whole circumstances of the case from, beginning to end.
I asked him if I had not a right to carry off the boy whom I knew to
be my own? His reply was that he would not stop to discuss that
question; all he knew was that there was a great hue and cry after
me for kidnapping the boy; that my son was seized and held for
aiding and abetting in the attempted abduction; and he advised me,
as a friend, to leave that part of the country as soon as possible.
I gave him fifty dollars to look after Henry's case. He thought,
considering how little, and that little involuntarily, my son had to
do with the matter, be might be got off; he would do all he could
for him anyhow. He then returned to Belvidere, and I took the road
north.

When I arrived at Port Jervis I detailed to my landlord the whole
occurrences of the day--what I had tried to do, and how miserably I
had failed, and asked him what was to be done next. He said
"nothing;" we could only wait and see what happened.

The day following I received a letter from the Belvidere lawyer
informing me that Henry had been examined, had been bound over in
the sum of three hundred dollars to take his trial on a charge of
kidnapping, and he was then in the county jail. I at once showed
this letter to the landlord, and he offered to go down with another
man to Belvidere and see about the bail. I gave him three hundred
dollars, which he took with him and put into the bands of a resident
there who became bail, and in a day or two Henry came back with them
to Port Jervis.

My son was frantic; he had been roughly treated; and to think, he
said, that he should be thrust into the common jail and kept there
two days with all sorts of scoundrels, when he had done actually
nothing! He would go back there, stand his trial, and prove his
innocence, if he died for it. He reproached me for attempting to
carry off the boy against his advice and warning; he knew we should
into trouble; but he would show them that he had nothing to do with
it; that's what he would do.

Now this was precisely what I did not wish to have him do. A trial
of this case, even if Henry should come off scott free, would be
certain to revive the whole of the old Scheimer story, which had
nearly died away, and which I had no desire to have brought before
the public again in any way whatever. The bail bond I was willing,
eager even to forfeit, if that would end the matter. But Henry was
sure they couldn't touch him, and he meant to have the three hundred
dollars returned to me.

Seeing how sensitive the boy was on the subject, and how bent he was
on proving his innocence, I thought it best to draw him away from
the immediate locality, and so, in the course of a week, I persuaded
him to go to New York with me, and we afterward went to Maine for a
few weeks to sell my medicines. This Maine trip was a most lucrative
one, which was very fortunate, for the money I made there, to the
amount of several hundred dollars, was shortly needed for purposes
which I did not anticipate when I put the money by.

We returned to New York, and I supposed that Henry had given up all
idea of attempting to "prove his innocence;" indeed we had no
conversation about the kidnapping affair for several weeks. But he
slipped away from me. One day I came back to the hotel, and,
inquiring for him, was told at the office he had left word for me
that he had gone to Belvidere. A letter from him a day or two
afterward confirmed this, to me, unhappy intelligence. The time was
near at hand for his trial, and he had gone and given himself up to
the authorities. He wrote to me again that he had sent word about
his situation to his mother-my first and worst wife-and she and his
sister were already with him.

Of course it was impossible for me to go there, if there were no
other reasons, I was too immediately interested in this affair to be
present, and I had no idea of undergoing a trial and a certain
conviction for myself. But I sent down a New York lawyer with one
hundred dollars, directing him to employ council there, and to
advise and assist as much as he could. Meanwhile, I remained in New
York, anxious, it is true, yet almost certain that it would be
impossible, under the circumstances, to convict Henry of the
kidnapping for which he was indicted. He had not even assisted in
the affair, and was sure his counsel would be able to so convince
the court and jury.

And reviewing the whole matter, now in my cooler moments, this
scheme of trying to carry away Sarah's son, seemed to be as foolish,
useless, and mad, as any one of my marrying adventures. Till I
picked him out from among his schoolmates, I had never seen the
child at all. When I started from Port Jervis to go down, as I
supposed, into Pennsylvania, I had no more idea of kidnapping the
boy than I had of robbing a sheep-fold. It was only when the
landlord at Water Gap told me that Sarah had remarried, and was
wedded to a worthless, drunken husband, that I conceived the plan of
removing the boy from such associations. I was going to bring him up
in a respectable manner. Alas! I did not succeed even in bringing
him away.






CHAPTER XIII.

ANOTHER WIDOW.

WAITING FOR THE VERDICT-MY SON SENT TO STATE PRISON-WHAT SARAH WOULD
HAVE DONE-INTERVIEW WITH MY FIRST WIFE-HELP FOR HENRY-THE BIDDEFORD
WIDOW-HER EFFORT TO MARRY ME-OUR VISIT TO BOSTON-A WARNING-A
GENEROUS GIFT-HENRY PARDONED-CLOSE OF THE SCHEIMER ACCOUNT-VISIT TO
ONTARIO COUNTY-MY RICH COUSINS-WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN-MY BIRTH-PLACE
REVISITED.





I waited with nervous impatience for the close of the trial in New
Jersey, when I hoped to welcome my son Henry to New York. It was so
plain a case, as it seemed to me, and must appear, I thought, to
everybody, that I hardly doubted his instant acquittal. But very
shortly the New York lawyer whom I had sent to Belvidere, came back
and brought terrible news. Henry had been tried, and notwithstanding
the fairest showing in his favor, he was convicted and sentenced to
eighteen months imprisonment at Trenton.

As it appeared, it was I really, and not Henry, who was on trial.
The circumstances of the desperate struggle, and my knocking down
one of the men with the butt of my whip, were conspicuous in the
case. Even the little boy was put on the stand, and was made to
testify against his older half-brother. Henry himself was astounded
at the result of the trial, and was firmly convinced that instead of
"proving his innocence" to Jersey jurymen, he had better have let
his innocence go by default. We never even got back again the three
hundred dollars which had been put into the hands of the man who
went bail for Henry when he was bound over for trial. For us, it was
bad business from beginning to end.

Henry wrote a letter to me, that just before his trial, before he
had delivered himself up, and while he was still under bail, he had
gone to see Sarah Scheimer on the little farm which was bought with
her money, and was worked, so far as it was worked at all, by her
drunken husband. The family were even poorer than the landlord at
Water Gap had reported. Sarah herself was miserable and unhappy. She
told Henry, when he informed her who he was, that if I had wanted to
see her or her son, I should have been welcome. She would have been
very glad to have had me take the boy and clothe him decently; but
she could not part with him, and would not have let me take him
away; still, I could see him at any time, and as often as I liked,
and the boy should grow up to know and to look upon me as his
father.

And this, really, was all I desired, all I wanted; and it was all
easily within my grasp, ready in fact to be put into my hands, and I
had gone ahead in my usual mad, blundering way, acting, not only
without advice, but against such advice as came from Henry at the
last moment, and had alienated the mother from me, lost the boy, and
had sent Henry, who was wholly innocent, to state prison for
eighteen months.

The poor fellow was take to Trenton and was put into the prison
where I had spent seven months. He was almost crazy when he got
there. His mother and sister went with him, and took lodgings in the
place so as to be near him, to render him any assistance that might
be in their power.

I had been idle now for some weeks in New York, and I went back to
Maine, to Biddeford, where I lad a good practice. I picked up a good
deal of money, and in two months I returned to New York to make a
brief visit, and to see if something could not be done for the
release of Henry from prison. At my solicitation a friend of mine
wrote to Trenton to Henry's mother to come on to New York, and meet
me at the Metropolitan Hotel on a specified day, to transact some
business. She came, and we met for the first time in several years.
We met now simply on business, and there was no expression of
sentiment or feeling on either side. We cared nothing for each
other. I commended her for her devotion to Henry, and then told her
I believed, if the proper efforts were made, he could be pardoned
out of prison. I told her what lawyer and other persons to see, and
how to proceed in the matter. I gave her the most minute
instructions, and then handed her five hundred dollars with which to
fee her lawyer, and to pay her and her daughter's living expenses in
Trenton. She was grateful for the money, and was only too glad to go
to work for Henry; she would have done it long ago if she had only
known what to do. We then parted, and I have never seen the woman,
since that day.

This business transacted, I at once returned to my practice at
Biddeford. Among my patients was a wealthy widow, "fat, fair, and
forty," and I had not attended her long before a warm affection
sprung up between us, and in time, when the widow recovered, we
began to think we were in love with each other. I confess that I
agreed to marry her; but it was to be at some distant day-a very
distant day as I intended--for, strange as it may seem, and as it
did seem to me, I had at last learned the lesson that I had better
let matrimony alone. I had married too many wives, widows,
milliners, and what not, already, and had suffered too severely for
so doing. I meant that my Vermont imprisonment, the worst of all,
should be the last.

So I only "courted" the widow, calling upon her almost every day,
and I was received and presented to her acquaintances as her
affianced husband. Her family and immediate friends were violently
opposed to the match, thereby showing their good sense. I was also
informed that they knew something of my previous history, and I was
warned that I had better not undertake to marry the widow. Bless
their innocent hearts! I had no idea of doing it. I was daily amazed
at my own common sense. My memory was active now; all my matrimonial
mishaps of the past, with all the consequences, were ever present to
my mind, and never more present than when was in the company of the
fascinating widow. As for her, the more her relatives opposed the
match, the more she was bent upon marrying me. Her family, she,
said, were afraid they were going to lose her property, but she
would never give them a cent of it, anyhow, and she would marry when
and whom she pleased.

Not "when," exactly; because, as she protested she would marry me, I
had something to say about it; I had been run away with by a
milliner in Vermont, and I had no idea of beings forcibly wedded by
a widow in Maine. I pleaded that my business was not sufficiently
established; I was liable to be called away from time to time; I
had affairs to arrange in New York and elsewhere before I could
settle down; and so the happy day was put off to an indefinite
future time.

By-and-by I had business in Boston, and the widow declared that she
would go with me; she wanted to visit her friend's there and do some
shopping; and without making particular mention of her intention to
her relatives, she went with me, and we were in Boston together more
than two weeks. At the end of that time she returned to Biddeford
and notified her friends treat she was married to the doctor, though
she had no certificate, not even a Troy one, to show for it.

I deemed it advisable not to go back with her, but went to Worcester
for a while. In a few days I went to Biddeford, keeping somewhat
close, for I did not care to meet any of the relatives, and at night
I called upon the widow. She told me that her family had raised a
tremendous fuss about me, and had learned as much as they, and
indeed she, wanted to know about my adventures in Vermont and New
Hampshire. They had not gone back of that, but that was enough. It
was dangerous, she told me, for me to stay there; I was sure to be
arrested; I had better get away from the place as soon as possible.
We might meet again by-and-by, but unless I wanted to be arrested I
must leave, the place that very night. She gave me seven hundred
dollars, pressed the money upon me, and I parted from her, returning
to Worcester, and going from there to Boston. Besides what the widow
bad given me, I had made more than one thousand dollars in Maine,
and was comparatively well off.

Then came the joyful intelligence that Henry was released. His
mother had worked for him night and day. She bad drawn up a
petition, secured a large number of sterling signatures, had gone
with her counsel to see the Governor, had presented the petition and
all the facts in the case, and the Governor had granted a pardon.
Henry served only six months of the eighteen for which he was
sentenced, and very soon after I received word that he was free, he
came to me in Boston, stayed a few days, and then went home to his
mother in Unadilla.

With the release of my son, I considered the Scheimer account
closed, and I have never made any effort to see Sarah or our boy
since that time.

From Boston I went to Pittsford, Ontario County, N. Y., where I had
many friends, who knew nothing about any of my marriages or
misfortunes, my arrests or imprisonments. I went visiting merely,
and enjoyed myself so much that I stayed there nearly three months,
going about the country, and practicing a little among my friends. I
was never happier than I was during this time. I was free from
prisons, free from my wives, and free from care. As a matrimonial
monomaniac I now looked upon myself as cured.

Among the friends whom I visited in Ontario County, and with whom I
passed several pleasant weeks, were two cousins of mine whom I had
not seen for many years, since we were children in fact, but who
gave me a most cordial welcome, and made much of me while I was
there. They knew absolutely nothing of my unhappy history-no
unpleasant rumor even respecting me, had ever penetrated that quiet
quarter of the State. I told them what I pleased of my past career,
from boyhood to the present time, and to them I was only a tolerably
successful doctor, who made money enough to live decently and dress
well, and who was then suffering from overwork and badly in need of
recuperation. This, indeed, was the ostensible reason for my visit
to Ontario. I was somewhat shattered; my old prison trials and
troubles began to tell upon me. I used to think sometimes that I was
a little "out of my head;" I certainly was so whenever I entered
upon one of my matrimonial schemes, and I must have been as mad as a
March hare when I attempted to kidnap Sarah Scheimer's boy. After
all the excitement and suffering of the past few years, I needed
rest, and here I found it.

My cousins were more than well-to-do farmers; they were enormously
rich in lands and money. Just after the war of 1812, their father,
my uncle, and my own father, had come to this, then wild and almost
uninhabited, section of the State to settle. Soon after they arrived
there my father's wife died, and this loss, with the general
loneliness of the region, to say nothing of the fever and ague, soon
drove my father back to Delaware County to his forge for a living,
and to the day of his death he was nothing more than a hard-working,
hand-to-mouth-living, common blacksmith.

But my uncle stayed there, and, as time went on, he bought hundreds
of acres of land for a mere song, which were now immensely valuable,
and had made his children almost the richest people in that region.
My Cousins were great farmers, extensive raisers of stock,
wool-growers, and everything else that could make them prosperous.
There seemed to be no end to their wealth, and their fiat farms,
spread out on every side as far as the eye could see.

And if my father had only stayed there, I could not help but think
what a different life mine might have been. Instead of being the
adventurer I was, and had been ever since I separated from my first
and worst wife-doing well, perhaps, for a few weeks or a few months,
and then blundering into a mad marriage or other difficulty which
got me into prison; well-to-do to-day and to-morrow a beggar--I,
too, might have been rich and respectable, and should have, saved
myself a world of suffering. This was but a passing thought which
did not mar my visit, or make it less pleasant to me. I went there
to be happy, not to be miserable, and for three months I was happy
indeed.

From there I went to my birthplace in Columbia County, revisiting
old scenes and the very few old friends and acquaintances who
survived, or who had not moved away. I spent a month there and
thereabouts, and at the end of that time I felt full restored to my
usual good health, and was ready to go to work again, not in the
matrimonial way, but in my medical business, that was enough for me
now.






CHAPTER XIV.

MY OWN SON TRIES TO MURDER ME.

SETTLING DOWN IN MAINE-HENRY'S HEALTH-TOUR THROUGH THE
SOUTH-SECESSION TIMES-DECEMBER IN NEW ORLEANS-UP THE
MISSISSIPPI-LEAVING HENRY IN MASSACHUSETTS-BACK IN MAINE
AGAIN-RETURN TO BOSTON-PROFITABLE HORSE TRADING-PLENTY OF MONEY-MY
FIRST WIFE'S CHILDREN-HOW THEY HAD BEEN BROUGHT UP-A BAREFACED
ROBBERY-ATTEMPT TO BLACKMAIL ME-MY SON TRIES TO ROB AND KILL ME-MY
RESCUE-LAST OF THE YOUNG MAN.





Where to go, not what to do, was the next question. Wherever I might
go and establish myself, if only for a few days, or a few weeks, I
was sure to have almost immediately plenty of patients and customers
enough for my medicines-this had been my experience always-and
unfortunately for me, I was almost equally sure to get into some
difficulty from which escape was not always easy. Looking over the
whole ground for a fresh start in business, it seemed to me that
Maine was the most favorable place. Whenever I had been there I had
done well; it was one of the very few States I had lived in where I
had not been in jail or in prison; nor had I been married there,
though the Biddeford widow did her best to wed me, and it is not her
fault that she did not succeed in doing it.

To Maine, then, I went, settling down in Augusta, and remaining
there four months, during which time I had as much as I could
possibly attend to, and laid by a very considerable sum of money.
While I was there I heard the most unfavorable reports with regard
to the health of my eldest son Henry. Prison life at Trenton had
broken him down in body as well as in spirit, and he had been ill,
some of the time seriously, nearly all the time since he went to
Unadilla. The fact that he was entirely innocent of the offence for
which he was imprisoned, preyed upon his mind, and with the worst
results. As these stories reached me from week to week, I became
anxious and even alarmed about him, and at last I left my lucrative
business in Augusta and went to New York. I could not well go to
Unadilla to visit Henry without seeing his mother, whom I had no
desire to see; so I sent for him to come to me in the city if was
able to do so. I knew that if medicine or medical attendance would
benefit him, I should be able to help him.

In a few days he came to me in a most deplorable physical condition.
He was a mere wreck of his former self. Almost immediately he began
to talk about the attempt to abduct the boy from Oxford; how
innocent he was in the matter, and how terribly he had suffered
merely because he happened to be with me when I rashly endeavored to
kidnap the lad. All this went through me like a sharp sword. It
seemed as if I was the cause, not only of great unhappiness to
myself, but of pain and misery to all who were associated or brought
in contact with me. For this poor boy, who had endured and suffered
so much on my account, I could not do enough. My means and time must
now be devoted to his recovery, if recovery, was possible.

He was weak, but was still able to walk about, and he enjoyed riding
very much. I kept him with me in the city a week or two, taking
daily rides to the Park and into the country, and when he felt like
going out in the evening I made him go to some place of amusement
with me. I had no other business, and meant to have none, but to
take care of Henry, and I devoted myself wholly to his comfort and
happiness. In a few days he had much improved in health and spirits,
so much so, that I meditated making a long tour with him to the
South, hoping that the journey there and back again would fully
restore him.

Fortunately, my recent Maine business had put me in possession of
abundant funds, and when I had matured my scheme, and saw that Henry
was in tolerable condition to travel, I proposed the trip to him,
and he joyfully assented to my plan. I wanted to get him far away,
for awhile, from a part of the country which was associated in his
mind, more than in mine, with so much misery, and he seemed quite as
eager to go. Change of air and scene I knew would do wonders for him
bodily, and would build him up again.

We made our preparations and started for the South, going first to
Baltimore and then on through the Southern States by railroad to New
Orleans. It was late in the fall of 1860, just before the rebellion,
when the south was seceding or talking secession, and was already
preparing for war. Henry's physical condition compelled us to rest
frequently on the way, and we stopped sometimes for two or three
days at a time, at nearly every large town or city on the entire
route. Everywhere there was a great deal of excitement; meetings
were held nearly every night secession was at fever heat, and there
was an unbounded expression and manifestation of ill-feeling against
the north and against northern men. Nevertheless, I was never in any
part of the Union where I was treated with so much courtesy,
consideration and genuine kindness as I was there and then. I was
going south, simply to benefit the invalid who accompanied me;
everybody seemed to know it; and everybody expressed the tenderest
sympathy for my son. Wherever we stopped, it seemed as if the people
at the hotels, from the landlord to the lowest servant, could not do
enough for us. At Atlanta, Augusta, Mobile, and other places, where
we made our stay long enough to get a little acquainted, my son and
myself were daily taken out to ride, and were shown everything of
interest that was to be seen. Henry did not enjoy this journey more
than I did-to me as well as to him, the trip was one prolonged
pleasure, and by the time we reached New Orleans nearly a month
after we left New York, my son had so recuperated that I had every
hope of his speedy and full restoration.

It was the beginnings of winter when we reached New Orleans; but
during the whole month of December while we remained in that city,
winter, if indeed it was winter, which we could hardly believe, was
only a prolongation of the last beautiful autumn days we had left at
the north. Now Orleans was then at the very height of prosperity;
business was brisk, money was plenty, the ships of all nations and
countless steamboats from St. Louis, Cincinnati, Louisville and all
points up the Mississippi and Ohio rivers lay at the levee. The
levee itself, from end to end, for miles along the river front, was
one mass of merchandise which had come to the city, or was awaiting
shipment. I had never seen a livelier city. Indescribably gay, too,
was New Orleans that winter. The city was full of strangers; the
hotels were thronged; there were balls every night; the theatres
were crowded, and everybody seemed bent on having a good time. With
all the rest, there was an extraordinary military furor, and militia
companies and regiments paraded the streets every day, while
secession meetings were held in various halls, or in the public
squares, nearly ever night.

From the St. Charles hotel where we stopped, St. Charles street
seemed ablaze and alive all night, and densely thronged all day.
Sunday brought no rest, for Sunday, so far as military parades,
amusement and general gaiety were concerned, was the liveliest day
in the week; and Sunday night the theatres were sure to present
their best performances and to draw their largest audiences. And so,
from morning till night, and from night till morning again, all was
whirl, stir, bustle, business, enjoyment, and excitement. To me,
unaccustomed as I was to such scenes, New York even seemed tame and
dull, and slow in comparison with New Orleans.

This is a picture of the Crescent City as it presented itself to me
and to my son in the early part of the winter before the war. No one
knew or even dreamed of the terrible times that were to come. No one
believed that war was probable, or even possible; it was well
enough, perhaps, to prepare for it; but secession was to be an
accomplished fact, and the North and all the world would quietly
acknowledge it. This was the general sentiment in the city; though
secession, and what would, or what might come of it, was the general
topic of talk in the hotels, in the restaurants, at the theatres, in
the streets, everywhere. Now and then some southerner with whom I
had become acquainted would try to draw me out to ascertain my
sentiments on the subject, but I always laughed, and said good
naturedly:

"My dear sir, I didn't come down here to talk about secession, but
to see if the southern climate would benefit my sick son."

The fact was that I minded my own business, and minded it so well
that while I was in New Orleans I managed to find a few patients and
sold recipes and medicines enough to pay the entire expenses of our
journey thus far, from the North.

Almost every day my son and I drove somewhere up to Carrolton, down
to the battle-ground, or on the shell road to Lake Ponchartrain. It
was a month of genuine enjoyment to us both; of profit to me
pecuniarily; and of the best possible benefit to Henry's health.

Early in January we took passage on one of the finest of the
Mississippi steamboats for St. Louis. The boat was crowded, and
among the passengers were a good many merchants, Northern men long
resident in New Orleans, who thought they saw trouble coming, and
accordingly had closed up their business in the Crescent City, and
were now going North to stay there. We had on board, too, the usual
complement of gamblers and amateur or professional poker-players,
who kept the forward saloon near the bar, and known in the river
vernacular as the "Texas" of the boat, lively all day long and well
into the night, or rather the next morning. It was ten or eleven
days before we reached St. Louis. Nothing notable occurred on the
trip; but day after day, as we proceeded northward, and left the
soft, sunny south behind us, with the daily increasing coldness and
wintry weather, Henry seemed to decline by degrees, and gradually to
lose nearly all that he had gained since we left New York. When we
reached St. Louis he was seriously sick. I was very sorry we had
come away so soon in the season, and proposed that we should return
and stay in the south till spring; but Henry would not consent.
There was nothing to be done, then, but to hurry on to the east, and
when we arrived in New York Henry would not go home to his mother in
Unadilla, but insisted upon accompanying me to Boston. I was willing
enough that he should go with me, for then I could have him under my
exclusive care; but when we arrived in Boston he was so overcome by
the excitement of travel, and was so feeble from fatigue as well as
disease, that instead of having him go with me to Augusta, as I
intended, by the advice of a friend I took him into the country
where he could be nursed, be quiet, and be well taken care of till
spring. I left him in good hands, promising to come and see him as
soon as I could, and then went back to my old business in Augusta.

It required a little time to knot the new end of that business to
the end where I had broken off three months before; but I was soon
in full practice again and was once more making and saving money. I
had no matrimonial affair in hand, no temptation in fact, and none
but strictly professional engagements to fulfil. In Augusta and in
several other towns which I visited, for the whole of the rest of
the winter, I was as busy as I could be. Early in the spring I made
up my mind to run away for a week or two, and arranged my business
so that I could go down into Massachusetts and visit Henry, hoping,
if he was better, to bring him back with me to Maine.

Two of my patients in Paris, Maine, had each given me a good horse
in payment for my attendance upon them and their families, and for
what medicines I had furnished, and I took these horses with me to
sell in Boston. I drove them down, putting a good supply of
medicines in my wagon to sell in towns on the way, and when I
arrived in Boston sold out the establishment, getting one hundred
and twenty-five dollars for the wagon, three hundred dollars for one
horse, and four hundred dollars for the other-a pretty good profit
on my time and medicine for the two patients-and I brought with me
besides about eighteen hundred dollars, the net result, above my
living expenses, of about three months' business in Maine, and what
I had done on the way down through Massachusetts. I am thus minute
about this money because it now devolves upon me to show what sort
of a family of children my first and worst wife had brought up.

Of these children by my first marriage, my eldest son Henry, since
he had grown up, had been with me nearly as much as he had been with
his mother, and I loved him as I did my life. Since he became of
age, at such times when I was not in prison, or otherwise
unavoidably separated from him, we had been associated in business,
and had traveled and lived together. I knew all about him; but of
the rest of the children I knew next to nothing. Shortly after I
sold my horses, one day I was in my room at the hotel, when word was
brought to me that some one in the parlor wanted to see me.

I went down and found a young man, about twenty-one years of age,
who immediately came to me addressing me as "father," and he then
presented a young woman, about two years older than he was, as his
sister and my daughter. I had not seen this young gentleman since
the time when I had carried him off from school and from the farmer
to whom he was bound, and had clothed him and taken him with me to
Amsterdam and Troy, subsequently sending him to my half-sister at
Sidney. The ragged little lad, as I found him, had grown up into a
stout, good-looking young man; but I had no difficulty in
recognizing him, though I was much at loss to know the precise
object of this visit; so after shaking hands with them, and asking
then how they were, I next inquired what they wanted?

Well, they had been to see Henry, and he was a great deal better.

I told them I was very glad to hear it, and that I was then on my
way to visit him, and hoped to see him in a few days, as soon as I
could finish my business in Boston; if Henry was as well as they
reported I should bring him away with me.

"But if you are busy here," said my young man, "we can save you both
time and trouble. We will go to Henry again and settle his bills for
board and other expenses, and will bring him with us to you at this
hotel."

This, at the time, really seemed to me a kindly offer; it would
enable me to stay in Boston and attend to business I had to do, and
Henry would come there with his brother and sister in a day or two.
I at once assented to the plan, and taking my well-filled
pocket-book from the inside breast pocket of my coat, I counted out
two hundred and fifty dollars and gave them to the young man to pay
Henry's board, doctor's and other bills, and the necessary car fares
for the party. They then left me and started, as I supposed, to go
after Henry.

But a few days went on and I saw and heard nothing of Henry. At last
word came to me one day that some one down stairs wanted to see me
and I told the servant to send him to my room, hoping that it might
be Henry. But no; it was my young man, of whom I instantly demanded:

"Where is your brother, whom you were to bring to me a week ago?
What have you done with the money I gave you for his bills?"

"I hadn't been near Henry; sister has gone home; and I've spent the
money on a spree, every cent of it, here in Boston, and I want
more."

"Want more!" I exclaimed in blank amazement:

"Yes, more; and if you don't give it to me, I'll follow you wherever
you go, and tell people all I know about you."

"You scoundrel," said I, "you come here and rob, not me, but your
poor, sick brother, and then return and attempt to black-mail me.
Get out of my sight this instant."

He sprung on me, and made a desperate effort to get my money out of
my pocket. We had a terrible struggle. He was younger and stronger
than I was, and as I felt that I was growing weaker I called out
loudly for help and shouted "Murder!"

The landlord himself came running into the room; I succeeded in
tearing myself away, from the grasp of my assailant, and the
landlord felled him to the floor with a chair. He then ran to the
door and called to a servant to bring a policeman.

"No, don't!" I exclaimed; "Don't arrest the villain, for I can make
no complaint against him--he is my son!"

But the landlord was bound to have some satisfaction out of the
affair; so he dragged the young man into the hall and kicked him
from the top of the stairs to the bottom, where, as soon as he had
picked himself up, a convenient servant kicked him out into the
street. I have never set eyes on my young man since his somewhat
sudden departure from that hotel.

And when I went to visit my poor Henry a day or two afterwards, I
can hardly say that I was surprised, though I was indignant to learn
that his brother and sister had never been near him at all since he
had been in Massachusetts. They knew where and how he was from his
letter's to his mother; they knew, too, from the same letters-for I
had notified Henry-at what time I would be in Boston, and with this
information they had come on to swindle me. I have no doubt, when
the young man came the second time to rob me, he would have murdered
me, if the landlord had not come to my assistance. And this was the
youngest son of my first and worst wife!!

I found Henry in better condition than I expected, and I took him
back with me to Augusta. I did not tell him of his brother's attempt
to rob and kill. Me-it would have been too great a shock for him. He
stayed with me only a few days and then, complaining of being
homesick, he went to visit his mother again.






CHAPTER XV.

A TRUE WIFE AND HOME, AT LAST.

WHERE WERE ALL MY WIVES?-SENSE OF SECURITY-AN IMPRUDENT
ACQUAINTANCE-MOVING FROM MAINE-MY PROPERTY IN RENSSELAER COUNTY-HOW
I LIVED-SELLING A RECIPE-ABOUT BUYING A CARPET-NINETEEN LAW-SUITS-
SUDDEN DEPARTURE FOR THE WEST-A VAGABOND FOR TWO YEARS-LIFE IN
CALIFORNIA-RETURN TO THE EAST-DIVORCE FROM MY FIRST WIFE-A GENUINE
MARRIAGE-MY FARM-HOME AT LAST.





I remained in Maine nearly two years, hardly ever going out of the
State, except occasionally to Boston on business. Making Augusta my
residence and headquarters, I practiced in Portland and in nearly
all the towns and cities in the eastern part of the State. During
all this time, I behaved myself, in all respects better than I had
ever before done in any period of my life. I began to look upon
myself as a reformed man; I had learned to let liquor alone, and was
consequently in far less, indeed, next to no danger of stepping into
the traps in which my feet had been so often caught. I may as well
confess it--it was intoxicating liquor, and that mainly, which had
led me into my various mad marrying schemes and made me the
matrimonial monomaniac and lunatic lover that I was for years. What
my folly, my insanity caused me to suffer, these pages have
attempted to portray. I had grown older, wiser, and certainly
better. I now only devoted myself strictly to my business, and I
found profit as well as pleasure in doing it.

What had become of all my wives in the meantime, I scarcely knew and
hardly cared. Of course from time to time I had heard more or less
about them-at least, a rumor of some sort now and then reached me.
About my first and worst wife, at intervals I heard something from
Henry, who was still with her, and who frequently wrote to me when
he was well enough to do so. Margaret Bradley and Eliza Gurnsey were
still carrying on the millinery business in Rutland, and in
Montpelier, and were no doubt weaving other and new webs in hopes of
catching fresh flies. Mary Gordon, as I learned soon afterwards, was
married almost before I had fairly escaped from New Hampshire in my
flight to Canada, and she had gone to California with her new
husband. Of the Newark widow I knew nothing; but two years of peace,
quiet, and freedom from molestation in Maine had made me feel quite
secure against any present or future trouble from my past
matrimonial misadventures.

I was living in Maine, prudently I think under an assumed name, and
as the respectable, and, to my patients and customers, well-known
Doctor Blank, I was scarcely liable to be recognized at any time or
by any one as the man who had married so many wives, been in so many
jails and prisons, and whose exploits had been detailed from time to
time in the papers.

Nor, all this while, did I have the slightest fear of detection. I
looked upon myself as a victim rather than as a criminal, and for
what I had done, and much that I had not done, I had more than paid
the penalty. So far as all my business transactions were concerned,
my course had always been honorable, and in my profession, for my
cures and for my medicines, I enjoyed a good reputation which all my
efforts were directed to deserve.

Of course, now and then, I met people in Portland, and especially in
Boston, who had known me in former years, and who knew something of
my past life; but these were generally my friends who sympathized
with my sufferings, or who, at least, were willing to blot out the
past in my better behavior of the present. One day in Boston a young
man came up to me and said:

"How do you do, Doctor?"

"Quite well," I replied; "but you have the advantage of me; I am
sure I do not remember you, if I ever knew you."

"You don't remember me! Why, I am the son of the jailer in Montpelier
with whom you spent so many months before you went to Windsor; I
knew you in a minute, and Doctor, I've been in Boston a week and
have got 'strapped;' how to get back to Montpelier I don't know,
unless you will lend me five or six dollars which I will send back
to you the moment I get home."

"I remember you well, now," said I; "you are the little rascal who
wouldn't even go and buy me a cigar unless I gave you a dime for
doing it; and then, sometimes, you cheated me out of my money; I
wouldn't lend you a dollar now if it would save you from six month's
imprisonment in your father's filthy jail. Good morning."

And that was the last I saw of him.

I was getting tired of Maine. I had been there longer than I had
stayed in any place, except in the Vermont State Prison, for the
past fifteen years, and I began to long for fresh scenes and a fresh
field for practice. I had accumulated some means, and thought I
might take life a little easier-make a home for myself somewhere,
practicing my profession when I wanted to, and at other times
enjoying the leisure I loved and really needed. So I closed up my
business in Augusta and Portland, put my money in my pocket, and
once more went out into the world on a prospecting tour. My first
idea was to go to the far West, and I went to Troy with the
intention of staying there a few days, and then bidding farewell to
the East forever. The New England States presented no attractions to
me; I had exhausted Maine, or rather it had exhausted me; New
Hampshire, Vermont, and Massachusetts had too many unpleasant
associations, if indeed they were safe states for me, with my record
to live in, and Connecticut I knew very little about. Certainly I
had no intention of trying to settle in New Jersey or Pennsylvania.
The west was the place; anywhere in the west.

Here was I in Troy, revolving plans in my own mind for migrating to
the west, just as Mary Gordon and I had done in the very same hotel,
only a few years before; and in the course of a week I came to
exactly the same conclusion that Mary and I did--not to go. I heard
of a small farm--it was a very small one of only twelve acres-which
could be bought in Rensselaer County, not more than sixteen miles
from Albany and Troy. I went to see the place, liked it, and bought
it for sixteen hundred dollars. There was a small but good house and
a barn on the place, and altogether it was a cheap and desirable
property. I got a good housekeeper, hired a man, and began to carry
on this little farm, raising garden vegetables and fruit mainly, and
sending them to market in Albany and Troy. Generally I took my own
stuff to market, and sold medicines and recipes as well, and in
Albany I had a first rate practice which I went to that city to
attend to once or twice a week. While my man was selling vegetables
and fruit--I remember I sold a hundred dollars worth of cherries from
my farm the first summer--in the market, I was Doctor Blank
receiving my patients at Stanwix Hall, or calling upon them at their
residences; and when the day's work was over, my man and I rode home
in the wagon which had brought us and the garden truck early in the
morning. On the whole, this kind of life was exceedingly
satisfactory, and I liked it.

I made frequent expeditions to Saratoga and to other places not far
from home to attend to cases to which I was called, and to sell
medicines; and considering that the main object I had in settling in
Rensselaer County was rest and more leisure than I had enjoyed for
some years, I had a great deal more to do than I desired.
Nevertheless, I might have continued to live on my little farm,
raising vegetables, picking cherries, and practicing medicine in the
neighborhood, had not the fate, which seemed to insist that I should
every little while come before a court of justice for something or
other, followed me even here. A certain hardware dealer in Albany,
with whom I had become acquainted, proposed to buy one of my
recipes, and to go into an extensive manufacture of the medicine. He
had read and heard of the fortunes that had been made in patent
medicines, by those who understand the business, and he thought he
would see if he could not get rich in a year or less in the same
way.

After some solicitation I sold him the recipe for one thousand
dollars, receiving six hundred dollars down, and a promise of the
balance when the first returns from sales of the medicine came in. I
also entered into a contract to show the man how to make the
medicine, and to give him such advice and assistance in his new
business as I could. My hardware friend understood his legitimate
business better than he did that which he had undertaken, and
although be learned how to manufacture the medicine he did not know
how to sell it; and after trying it a few weeks, and doing next to
nothing, he turned upon me as the author of his misfortunes and sued
me for damages.

Incidental to this, and only incidental, is the following: Shortly
after I purchased my property, as I was very fond of calling my
little farm, in Rensselaer County, I was in Albany one day when it
occurred to me that I wanted a carpet for my parlor. I went to the
store of a well-known carpet-dealer, and asked to be shown some of
his goods. While I was going through the establishment I came across
a man who was industriously sewing together the lengths of a cut
carpet, and I recognized in him one of my fellow convicts at
Windsor. He, however, did not know me, and I doubt if he could have
been convinced of my identity as the wretch who plied the broom in
the halls of the prison. To him, as he glanced at me, I was only a
well-dressed gentleman whom the proprietor was courteously showing
through the establishment in the hope of securing a good customer.
It was this little circumstance, I think-my chance meeting with my
old fellow-prisoner, and my changed circumstances and appearance
which put me beyond recognition by him-that prompted me to the
somewhat brazen business that followed:

"I only came in to look to-day," I said to the carpet-dealer; "for
the precise sum of money in my pocket at present is eighteen pence,
and no more; but if you will cut me off forty yards of that piece of
carpeting, and trust me for it, I will pay your bill in a few days,
as sure as I live."

My frank statement with regard to my finances seemed to attract the
attention of the merchant who laughed and said:

"Well, who are you, anyhow? Where do you live?"

I told him that I was Doctor Blank; that I lived in Rensselaer
county on a small place of my own; I raised fruit and vegetables for
market; I cured cancers, dropsy, and other diseases when I could;
sold medicines readily almost where I would; and was in Albany once
or twice a week.

"Measure and cut off the carpet," said he to the clerk who was
following us, "and put it in the Doctor's wagon"

The bill was about a hundred dollars, and I drove home with the
carpet. It was nearly six weeks afterwards when I went into the
store again, and greeted the proprietor. He had seen me but once
before and had totally forgotten me. I told him I was Doctor Blank,
small farmer and large medical practitioner of Rensselaer County.

"The devil you are! Why, you're the man that bought a carpet of me a
few weeks ago; I was wondering what had become of you."

"I'm the man, and I must tell you that the carpet doesn't look well;
but never mind-here's a hundred dollars, and I want you to receipt
the bill."

"Now," said I, when he returned the bill to me receipted, "the
carpet looks firstrate; I never saw a handsomer one in my life."

"Well, you are an odd chap, any how," said the carpet-dealer,
laughing, and shaking me by the hand. Almost from that moment we
were more than mere acquaintances, we were fast friends. In the
course of the long conversation that followed, I told him of my
trouble with the hardware man-how I had sold him the recipe; that he
had failed, from ignorance to conduct the business properly, and had
sued me for damages.

"I know the man," said my new friend; "let him go ahead and sue and
be-benefited, if he can; meanwhile, do you keep easy; I'll stand by
you."

And stand by me he did through thick and thin. The hardware man sued
me no less than nineteen times, and for pretty much
everything-damages, debt, breach of contract, and what not. With the
assistance of a lawyer whom my friend recommended to me, I beat my
opponent in eighteen successive suits; but as fast as one suit was
decided he brought another, almost before I could get out of the
court room. At last he carried the case to the Supreme Court, and
from there it went to a referee. The matter from beginning to end,
must have cost him a mint of money; but he went on regardless of the
costs which he hoped and expected to get out of me at last.

My long and painful experience, covering many years, had given me a
pretty thorough knowledge of the law's uncertainty, as well as the
law's delay, and very early in the course of the present suit, I had
quietly disposed of my property in Rensselaer County. I sold the
little farm, which cost me sixteen hundred dollars, for twenty-one
hundred dollars, and I had had, besides, the profits of nearly two
years' farming and a good living from and on the place. I also
arranged all my money matters in a manner that I felt assured would
be satisfactory to me, if not to my opponent, and then, following
the advice of my friend, the carpet-dealer, I let the hardware man
sue and be-"benefited if he could." When, however, the case went
finally to a referee who was certain, I felt sure, to decide against
me, I took no further personal interest in the matter, nor have I
ever troubled myself to learn the filial decision. I made up my mind
in a moment and decided that the time had come, at last, when it was
advisable for me to go to the West.

Westward I went, towards sunset almost, and for the two following
years I led, I fear, what would be considered a very vagabond life.
I went to Utah, thinking while I was in Salt Lake City, if they only
knew my history there I was sure to be elected an apostle, or should
be, at any rate, a shining light in Mormondom-only I had taken my
wives in regular succession, and had not assembled the throng
together. I pushed across the plains, and went to California,
remaining a long time in San Francisco. This may have been
vagabondism, but it was profitable vagabondism to me. During this
long wandering I held no communication with my friends in the East;
friends and foes alike had an opportunity to forget me, or if they
thought of me they did not know whether I was dead or alive; they
certainly never knew, all the time, where I was; and while I was
journeying I never once met a man or woman who had been acquainted
with me in the past. All the time, too, I had plenty of money;
indeed, when, I returned at last I was richer far than I was when I
left Albany, and left as the common saying graphically expresses it,
"between two days." I had my old resources of recipes, medicines and
my profession, and these I used, and had plenty of opportunity to
use, to the best advantage. I could have settled in San Francisco
for life with the certainty of securing a handsome annual income. I
never feared coming to want. If I had lost my money and all other
resources had failed, I was not afraid to make a horse-nail or turn
a horse-shoe with the best blacksmith in California, and I could
have got my living, as I did for many a year, at the forge and
anvil.

But I made more money in other and easier ways, and I made friends.
In every conceivable way my two years' wandering was of far more
benefit to me than I dreamed of when I wildly set out for the West
without knowing exactly where, or for what, I was going. The new
country, too, had given me, not only a fresh fund of ideas, but a
new stock of health--morally and physically I was in better
condition than I ever was before in my life. I had a clear head; a
keen sense of my past follies; a vivid consciousness of the
consequences which such follies, crimes they may be called, are
almost certain to bring. I flattered myself that I was not only a
reformed prisoner, but a reformed drunkard, and a thoroughly
restored matrimonial monomaniac.

And when I returned, at last, to the East, and went once more to
visit my near and dear friends in Ontario County, I was received as
one who had come back from the dead. When I had been here a few
weeks, and had communicated to my cousins so much of the story of my
life as I then thought advisable, I took good counsel and finally
did what I ought to have done long years before. I commenced proper
legal proceedings for a divorce from my first and worst wife. I do
not need to dwell upon the particulars; it is enough to say, that
the woman, who was then living, so far from opposing me, aided me
all she could, even making affidavit to her adultery with the hotel
clerk at Bainbridge, long ago, and I easily secured my full and
complete divorce. Now I was, indeed, a free man-all the other wives
whom I had married, or who had married me, whether I would or no,
were as nothing; some were dead and others were again married. It
may be that this new, and to me strange sense of freedom, legitimate
freedom, set me to thinking that I might now secure a genuine and
true wife, who would make a new home happy to me as long as we both
should live.

Fortune, not fate now, followed me, led me rather and guided my
footsteps. It was not many months before I met a woman who seemed to
me in every way calculated to fill the first place in that home
which I had pictured as a final rest after all my woes and
wanderings. From mutual esteem our acquaintance soon ripened into
mutual love. She was all that my heart could desire. I was tolerably
well off; my position was reputable; my connections were
respectable. To us, and to our friends, the match seemed a most
desirable one. It was no hasty courtship; we knew each other for
months and learned to know each other well; and with true love for
each other, we had for each other a genuine respect. I frankly told
her the whole story of my life as I have now written it. She only
pitied my misfortunes, pardoned my errors, and, one bright, golden,
happy autumn day, we were married.

In the northeastern part of the State of New York on the banks of a
broad and beautiful river, spread out far and near the fertile acres
of one of the finest farms in the country. It is well stocked and
well tilled. The surrounding country is charming--game in the woods,
and fish in the streams afford abundant sport, and the region is far
away from large cities, and remote even from railroads. I do not
know of a more delightful place in the whole world to live in. On
the farm I speak of, a cottage roof covers a peaceful, happy family,
where content and comfort always seem to reign supreme. A noble
woman, a most worthy wife is mistress of that house; joyous children
move and play among the trees that shade the lawns; and the head
of the household, the father of the family, is the happiest of thee
group.

That farm, that family, that cottage, that wife, that happy home are
mine-all mine. I have found a true wife and a real home at last.

My story is told; and if it should suggest to the reader the moral
which is too obvious to need rehearsal, one object I had in telling
the story will have been accomplished.

THE END.
The Project Gutenberg Etext of Seven Wives and Seven Prisons
by L.A. Abbott


******This file should be named svnwv10.txt or svnwv10.zip******

Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, svnwv11.txt
VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, svnwv10a.txt

This etext was created by Charles Aldarondo (Aldarondo@yahoo.com).

***

More information about this book is at the top of this file.


We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance
of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections,
even years after the official publication date.

Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til
midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month.  A
preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
and editing by those who wish to do so.

Most people start at our Web sites at:
http://gutenberg.net or
http://promo.net/pg

These Web sites include award-winning information about Project
Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new
eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!).


Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement
can get to them as follows, and just download by date.  This is
also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.

http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/eBook03 or
ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/eBook03

Or /eBook02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90

Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
as it appears in our Newsletters.


Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)

We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work.  The
time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc.   Our
projected audience is one hundred million readers.  If the value
per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text
files per month:  1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+
We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002
If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end.

The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks!
This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users.

Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated):

eBooks Year Month

    1  1971 July
   10  1991 January
  100  1994 January
 1000  1997 August
 1500  1998 October
 2000  1999 December
 2500  2000 December
 3000  2001 November
 4000  2001 October/November
 6000  2002 December*
 9000  2003 November*
10000  2004 January*


The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created
to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium.

We need your donations more than ever!

As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people
and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut,
Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois,
Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts,
Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New
Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio,
Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South
Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West
Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming.

We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones
that have responded.

As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list
will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states.
Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state.

In answer to various questions we have received on this:

We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally
request donations in all 50 states.  If your state is not listed and
you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have,
just ask.

While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are
not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting
donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to
donate.

International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about
how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made
deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are
ways.

The most recent list of states, along with all methods for donations
(including credit card donations and international donations), may be
found online at http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html

Donations by check or money order may be sent to:

Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
PMB 113
1739 University Ave.
Oxford, MS 38655-4109

Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment
method other than by check or money order.


The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by
the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN
[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154.  Donations are
tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law.  As fund-raising
requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be
made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states.

We need your donations more than ever!

You can get up to date donation information at:

http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html


***

If you can't reach Project Gutenberg,
you can always email directly to:

Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com>

Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message.

We would prefer to send you information by email.


**The Legal Small Print**


(Three Pages)

***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START***
Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers.
They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how
you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to.

*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK
By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive
a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by
sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical
medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.

ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS
This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks,
is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart
through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project").
Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
distribute it in the United States without permission and
without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth
below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook
under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.

Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market
any commercial products without permission.

To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable
efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any
medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other
things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer
codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may
receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims
all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.

If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of
receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
time to the person you received it from. If you received it
on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
copy. If you received it electronically, such person may
choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
receive it electronically.

THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
PARTICULAR PURPOSE.

Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
may have other legal rights.

INDEMNITY
You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation,
and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated
with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including
legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the
following that you do or cause:  [1] distribution of this eBook,
[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook,
or [3] any Defect.

DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by
disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
or:

[1]  Only give exact copies of it.  Among other things, this
     requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
     eBook or this "small print!" statement.  You may however,
     if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable
     binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
     including any form resulting from conversion by word
     processing or hypertext software, but only so long as
     *EITHER*:

     [*]  The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
          does *not* contain characters other than those
          intended by the author of the work, although tilde
          (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
          be used to convey punctuation intended by the
          author, and additional characters may be used to
          indicate hypertext links; OR

     [*]  The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at
          no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
          form by the program that displays the eBook (as is
          the case, for instance, with most word processors);
          OR

     [*]  You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
          no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
          eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
          or other equivalent proprietary form).

[2]  Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this
     "Small Print!" statement.

[3]  Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the
     gross profits you derive calculated using the method you
     already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  If you
     don't derive profits, no royalty is due.  Royalties are
     payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation"
     the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were
     legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent
     periodic) tax return.  Please contact us beforehand to
     let us know your plans and to work out the details.

WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of
public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed
in machine readable form.

The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time,
public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses.
Money should be paid to the:
"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or
software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at:
hart@pobox.com

[Portions of this header are copyright (C) 2001 by Michael S. Hart
and may be reprinted only when these eBooks are free of all fees.]
[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales
of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be they hardware or
software or any other related product without express permission.]

*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END*



End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Seven Wives and Seven Prisons
by L.A. Abbott