Ivan the Terrible; or, Dark Deeds of Night — page 99: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

IVAN THE , I could nof help these delays.” Well, then, we must be quick. We may have some inter- eB On or tussle with the crowd, or something, so let us make iaste,’ ‘Tam afraid we shall, Mr. Sheriff, the crowd is increasing as you see. Don’t you perceive the throng streaming down the dusty road? I fear they may be Apprentices, if so arow is certain,” ‘Come, now then. Quick, Scroggins.” This was addressed to the hangman, who, only too glad to escape the jeers, and kicks, and cuffs of the crowd, sprang on to the scaffold, | A yell burst from the people and several stones were hurled when they saw the hang-dog, cadaverous face of Scroggins, who became much alarmed and turned round several times to escape the stones, dead cats, rotten eggs, and rotten potatoes thrown at him, not knowing what to do, TERRIBLE. 95 ‘“Down with him !—down with the hangman !” shouted a hundred voices, “Qh! don’t talk to me, sheriff, nor none of ye, J know my business,” growled that unpopular functionary as he began to adjust the rope. ‘Stand back!” said the governor, as the mob advanced: ‘Keep them off, spearmen, keep them off, I say! ‘There is mischief brewing !”’ The captain of the spearmen and mounted men gaye the necessary orders. The horses began to tread upon the toes of the foremost of the crowd near the scaffold. . | For some moments a scene of intense excitement began, all of which the hangman looked at with a grin of sad alarm knowing not where the row might end, for several stones and other hard and very disagreeable missiles had struck his ugly face, and by no means improved his beauty or cleanliness. (Zo be continued.) ee eee THE BUZZARD'S FEAST; OR, THE SECRET MURDER. ( Continued from page 88.) — But when he sat down to his supper over the fire that he had kindled, his fancies crowded thickly upon him, and he felt a con- fused donbt and suspicion that something was to happen, he knew not what. His conjectures and apprehensions were without form, though not altogether void; and he felt a strange sickness and a sinking at the heart which was yery unusual with him. He had, in short, that lowness of spirits, that cloudy apprehension of soul, which takes the form of presentiment, and makes us look out for danger eyen when the skies are without a cloud, and the breeze is laden, equally and only, with balm and music. His moodiness found no sympathy among his companions. Joel Spackman was in the best of humours, and his mother was so cheery and happy that when the thoughtful boy went off into the woods to watch he could hear her at every moment breaking out into little catches of a country ditty, which the gloomy events of the late war lad not yet obliterated from her memory. The youth wandered along the edges of the dense bay or swamp- bottom, which we have passingly referred to, until he came to its junction with, and termination at, the high road. | James turned into this, and, involuntarily departing from it the moment after, soon found himself on the opposite side of the bay thicket. ‘He wandered on and on, as he himself described it, without any power to restrain himself. He knew not how far he went, but, instead of maintaining his watch for two hours only, he was gone more than four, and at length a sense of weariness which over- powered him all of a sudden, caused him to seat himself at the foot of a tree, and snatch a few moments of rest. He denied that he slept in this time. He insisted to the last moment of his life that sleep never visited his eyelids that night— that he was conscious of fatigue and exhaustion, but not drowsiness —and that this fatigue was so numbing as to be painful, and effectually keep him from any sleep. While he sat thus beneath the tree, with a body weak and nerve- less, but a mind excited, he knew not how or why, to the most acute degree of expectation and attention, he heard his name called by the well-known voice of his friend, Major Spencer. The voice called him three times—‘‘ James Gray !—James!— James Gray |”? before he could muster strength enough to answer. It was not courage he wanted—of that he was positive, for he felt sure, as he said, that something had gone wrong, and he was never more ready to fight in his life than at that moment, could he have commanded the physical capacity; buat his throat seemed dry to suffocation; his lips effectually sealed up as if with wax, and when he did answer, the sounds seemed as fine and soft as the whisper of some child just born. ‘Oh, major, is it you?” > : The answer he received was instantaneous, though the voice came from some little distance iu the bay, ‘Jt is, James! It is your own friend, Lionel Spencer, that de to you; do not be alarmed when you see me. I have been 8 ockingly murdered !” A moment after, James Gray saw Major Spencer, as plainly as | to be heard half a mile. he had seen him living, standing at the edge of the bay, about twenty steps from him. Though he stood in the shade of the thicket, and there was no light in the heavens save that of the stars, he was yet enabled to distinguish perfectly, and with great ease, every lineament ol his friend’s face. He looked very pale, and his garments were covered with blood ; and James said that he strove very much to rise from the place where he sat, and approach him. “For, in truth,’? said the lad, ‘‘so far from feeling any fear, U felt nothing but fury in my heart; but I could not move a limb, My feet were fastened to the ground; my hands to my sides; and I could only bend forward and gasp. I felt as if I should have died with vexation that I could not rise; but a power which I could not resist, made me motionless, and almost speechless. I could only say, ‘Murdered!’ And that one word I think I must have re- peated a dozen times. ‘Ves, murdered—murdered by the Scotchman who slept with us at your fire the night before last. James, I look to you to have the murderer brought to justice! James—do you hear me, James ?? t* These,” said James, **I think were the words, or near about the very words that I heard; and I tried to ask the major to tell me how it was, and how I could do what he required ; but I didn’t hear myself speak, though it would appear that he did, for almost iminediately after I had tried to speak what I wished to say, he answered me just as if I had said it. He told me that the Scotch- man had waylaid, killed, and hidden him in that very bay; that his murderer had gone to Charleston; and that if I made haste to that town, I would find him in the Falmouth packet, which was then lying in the harbour and ready to sail for England. He further said that everything depended on my making haste; that I must reach town by to-morrow night if I wanted to be in season, and go right on board the vessel and charge the criminal with the deed. “To not be afraid,’ said he, when he had finished; ‘be afraid of nothing, James, for God will help and strengthen you to the nd. ‘‘ When I heard all I burst out into a flood of tears, and then I felt strong. “‘T felt that I could talk, or fight, or do almost anything; and I jumped up to my feet, and was just about to run down to where the major stood; but, with the first step which I made forward, he was gone! oan ‘<T stopped and looked all around me, but I could see nothing ; and the bay was just as black as midnight. But I went down to it, and tried to press in where I thought the major had been stand- ing ; but I couldn't get far, the brush and bay bushes were so close and thick. ‘¢ T was now bold and strong enough, and I called out, loud enough I didn’t exactly know what I called for, or what I wanted to learn, or I have forgotten, but I heard nothing more. ‘‘ Then [remembered the camp, and began to fear that something might have happened to mother and uncle, for I now felt, what I Comicloooks.Coni