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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/17504-0.txt b/17504-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7af4df6 --- /dev/null +++ b/17504-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2436 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mintage, by Elbert Hubbard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Mintage + +Author: Elbert Hubbard + +Release Date: January 12, 2006 [EBook #17504] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MINTAGE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +’Tis here you’ll find the mintage of my mind.—_Goethe._ + + ------------------------------------- + + [Illustration: Elbert Hubbard] + + Elbert Hubbard + + +The Mintage +Being Ten Stories & One More +By Elbert Hubbard + +Copyright 1910 +Elbert Hubbard + + + + +CONTENTS + +FIVE BABIES +TO THE WEST +SIMEON STYLITES THE SYRIAN +BATTLE OF THE LITTLE BIG HORN +SAM +CLEOPATRA AND CÆSAR +A SPECIAL OCCASION +UNCLE JOE AND AUNT MELINDA +BILLY AND THE BOOK +JOHN THE BAPTIST AND SALOME +THE MASTER + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + All success consists in this: you are doing something + for somebody—are benefiting humanity; and the feeling + of success comes from the consciousness of this. + + + FIVE BABIES + + +Riding on the Grand Trunk Railway a few weeks ago, going from +Suspension Bridge to Chicago, I saw a sight so trivial that it seems +unworthy of mention. Yet for three weeks I have remembered it, and so +now I’ll relate it, in order to get rid of it. + +And possibly these little incidents of life are the items that make or +mar existence. + +But here is what I saw on that railroad train: five children, the +oldest a girl of ten, and the youngest a baby boy of three. They were +traveling alone and had come from Germany, duly tagged, ticketed and +certified. + +They were going to their Grandmother at Waukegan, Illinois. + +The old lady was to meet them in Chicago. + +The children spoke not a word of English, but there is a universal +language of the heart that speaks and is understood. So the trainmen +and the children were on very chummy terms. + +Now, at London, Ontario, our train waited an hour for the Toronto and +Montreal connections. + +Just before we reached London, I saw the Conductor take the three +smallest little passengers to the washroom at the end of the car, roll +up their sleeves, turn their collars in, and duly wash their hands and +faces. Then he combed their hair. They accepted the situation as if +they belonged to the Conductor’s family, as of course they did for the +time being. It was a domestic scene that caused the whole car to +smile, and made everybody know everybody else. A touch of nature makes +a whole coach kin. + +The children had a bushel-basket full of eatables, but at London that +Conductor took the whole brood over to the dining-hall for supper, and +I saw two fat men scrap as to who should have the privilege of paying +for the kiddies’ suppers. The children munched and smiled and said +little things to each other in Teutonic whispers. + +After our train left London and the Conductor had taken up his +tickets, he came back, turned over two seats and placed the cushions +lengthwise. One of the trainmen borrowed a couple of blankets from the +sleeping-cars, and with the help of three volunteered overcoats, the +babies were all put to bed, and duly tucked in. + +I went back to my Pullman, and went to bed. And as I dozed off I kept +wondering whether the Grandmother would be there in the morning to +meet the little travelers. What sort of disaster had deprived them of +parents, I did not know, nor did I care to ask. The children were +alone, but among friends. They were strong and well, but they kept +very close together and looked to the oldest girl as a mother. + +But to be alone in Chicago would be terrible! Would she come! + +And so I slept. In the morning there was another Conductor in charge, +a man I had not before seen. I went into the day-coach, thinking that +the man might not know about the babies, and that I might possibly +help the little immigrants. But my services were not needed. The +ten-year-old “little other mother” had freshened up her family, and the +Conductor was assuring them, in awfully bad German, that their +Grandmother would be there—although, of course, he didn’t know +anything at all about it. + +When the train pulled into the long depot and stopped, the Conductor +took the baby boy on one arm and a little girl on the other. + +A porter carried the big lunch-basket, and the little other mother led +a toddler on each side, dodging the hurrying passengers. + +Evidently I was the only spectator of the play. + + ------------------------------------- + +“Will she be there—will she be there?” I asked myself nervously. + +She was there, all right, there at the gate. The Conductor was +seemingly as gratified as I. He turned his charges over to the old +woman, who was weeping for joy, and hugging the children between +bursts of lavish, loving Deutsch. + +I climbed into a Parmelee bus and said, “Auditorium Annex, please.” + +And as I sat there in the bus, while they were packing the grips on +top, the Conductor passed by, carrying a tin box in one hand and his +train cap in the other. + +I saw an Elk’s tooth on his watch-chain. + +I called to him, “I saw you help the babies—good boy!” + +He looked at me in doubt. + +“Those German children,” I said; “I’m glad you were so kind to them!” + +“Oh,” he answered, smiling; “yes, I had forgotten; why, of course, +that is a railroad man’s business, you know—to help everybody who +needs help.” + +He waved his hand and disappeared up the stairway that led to the +offices. + +And it came to me that he had forgotten the incident so soon, simply +because to help had become the habit of his life. He may read this, +and he may not. There he was—big, bold, bluff and bronzed, his hair +just touched with the frost of years, and beneath his brass buttons a +heart beating with a desire to bless and benefit. I do not know his +name, but the sight of the man, carrying a child on each arm, their +arms encircling his neck in perfect faith, their long journey done, +and he turning them over in safety to their Grandmother, was something +to renew one’s faith in humanity. + +Even a great Railway System has a soul. + +If you answer that corporations have no souls, I’ll say: “Friend, you +were never more mistaken in your life. The business that has no soul +soon ceases to exist; and the success of a company or corporation +turns on the kind of soul it possesses. Soul is necessary to service. +Courtesy, kindness, honesty and efficiency are tangible soul-assets; +and all good railroad men know it.” + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + By taking thought you can add cubits to your stature. + + + TO THE WEST + + +To stand by the open grave of one you have loved, and feel the sky +shut down over less worth in the world is the supreme test. + +There you prove your worth, if ever. + +You must live and face the day, and face each succeeding day, +realizing that “the moving finger writes, and having writ moves on, +nor all your tears shall blot a line of it.” + +Heroes are born, but it is calamity that discovers them. + +Once in Western Kansas, in the early Eighties, I saw a loaded +four-horse wagon skid and topple in going across a gully. + +The driver sprang from his seat and tried to hold the wagon upright. + +The weight was too great for his strength, powerful man though he was. + +The horses swerved down the ditch instead of crossing it, and the +overturning wagon caught the man and pinned him to the ground. + +Half a dozen of us sprang from our horses. After much effort the +tangled animals were unhitched and the wagon was righted. + +The man was dead. + +In the wagon were the wife and six children, the oldest child a boy of +fifteen. All were safely caught in the canvas top and escaped unhurt. +We camped there—not knowing what else to do. + +We straightened the mangled form of the dead, and covered the body +with a blanket. + +That night the mother and the oldest boy sat by the campfire and +watched the long night away with their dead. + +The stars marched in solemn procession across the sky. + +The slow, crawling night passed. + +The first faint flush of dawn appeared in the East. + +I lay near the campfire, my head pillowed on a saddle, and heard the +widowed mother and her boy talking in low but earnest tones. + +“We must go back—we must go back to Illinois. It is the only thing to +do,” I heard the mother moan. + +And the boy answered: “Mother, listen to what I say: We will go on—we +will go on. We know where father was going to take us—we know what he +was going to do. We will go on, and we will do what he intended to do, +and if possible we will do it better. We will go on!” + +That first burst of pink in the East had turned to gold. + +Great streaks of light stretched from horizon to zenith. + +I could see in the dim and hazy light the hobbled horses grazing +across the plain a quarter of a mile away. + +The boy of fifteen arose and put fuel on the fire. + +After breakfast I saw that boy get a spade, a shovel and a pick out of +the wagon. + +With help of others a grave was dug there on the prairie. + +The dead was rolled in a blanket and tied about with thongs, after the +fashion of the Indians. + +Lines were taken from a harness, and we lowered the body into the +grave. + +The grave was filled up by friendly hands working in nervous haste. + +I saw the boy pat down the mound with the back of a spade. + +I saw him carve with awkward, boyish hands the initials of his father, +the date of his birth and the day of his death. + +I saw him drive the slab down at the head of the grave. + +I saw him harness the four horses. + +I saw him help his little brothers into the canvas-covered wagon. + +I saw him help his mother climb the wheel as she took her place on the +seat. + +I saw him spring up beside her. + +I saw him gather up the lines in his brown, slim hands, and swing the +whip over the leaders, as he gave the shrill word of command and +turned the horses to the West. + +And the cavalcade moved forward to the West—always to the West. + +The boy had met calamity and disaster. He had not flinched. + +In a single day he had left boyhood behind and become a man. + +And the years that followed proved him genuine. + +What was it worked the change? Grief and responsibility, nobly met. + + + + ------------------------------------- + + The church has aureoled and sainted the men and + women who have fought the Cosmic Urge. To do nothing + and to be nothing was regarded as a virtue. + + + SIMEON STYLITES THE SYRIAN + + +The church has aureoled and sainted the men and women who have fought +the Cosmic Urge. To do nothing and to be nothing was regarded as a +virtue. + + + +As the traveler journeys through Southern Italy, Sicily and certain +parts of what was Ancient Greece, he will see broken arches, parts of +viaducts, and now and again a beautiful column pointing to the sky. +All about is the desert, or solitary pastures, and only this white +milestone marking the path of the centuries and telling in its own +silent, solemn and impressive way of a day that is dead. + +In the Fifth Century a monk called Simeon the Syrian, and known to us +as Simeon Stylites, having taken the vow of chastity, poverty and +obedience, began to fear greatly lest he might not be true to his +pledge. And that he might live absolutely beyond reproach, always in +public view, free from temptation, and free from the tongue of +scandal, he decided to live in the world, and still not be of it. To +this end he climbed to the top of a marble column, sixty feet high, +and there on the capstone he began to live a life beyond reproach. + +Simeon was then twenty-four years old. + +The environment was circumscribed, but there were outlook, sunshine, +ventilation—three good things. But beyond these the place had certain +disadvantages. The capstone was a little less than three feet square, +so Simeon could not lie down. He slept sitting, with his head bowed +between his knees, and, indeed, in this posture he passed most of his +time. Any recklessness in movement, and he would have slipped from his +perilous position and been dashed to death upon the stones beneath. + +As the sun arose he stood up, just for a few moments, and held out his +arms in greeting, blessing and in prayer. Three times during the day +did he thus stretch his cramped limbs, and pray with his face to the +East. At such times, those who stood near shared in his prayers, and +went away blessed and refreshed. + +How did Simeon get to the top of the column? + +Well, his companions at the monastery, a mile away, said he was +carried there in the night by a miraculous power; that he went to +sleep in his stone cell and awoke on the pillar. Other monks said that +Simeon had gone to pay his respects to a fair lady, and in wrath God +had caught him and placed him on high. The probabilities are, however, +Terese, as viewed by an unbeliever, that he shot a line over the +column with a bow and arrow and then drew up a rope ladder and +ascended with ease. + +However, in the morning the simple people of the scattered village saw +the man on the column. + +All day he stayed there. + +And the next day he was still there. + +The days passed, with the scorching heat of the midday sun, and the +cool winds of the night. + +Still Simeon kept his place. + +The rainy season came on. When the nights were cold and dark, Simeon +sat there with bowed head, and drew the folds of his single garment, a +black robe, over his face. + +Another season passed; the sun again grew warm, then hot, and the +sandstorms raged and blew, when the people below almost lost sight of +the man on the column. Some prophesied he would be blown off, but the +morning light revealed his form, naked from the waist up, standing +with hands outstretched to greet the rising sun. + +Once each day, as darkness gathered, a monk came with a basket +containing a bottle of goat’s milk and a little loaf of black bread, +and Simeon dropped down a rope and drew up the basket. + +Simeon never spoke, for words are folly, and to the calls of saint or +sinner he made no reply. He lived in a perpetual attitude of +adoration. + +Did he suffer? During those first weeks he must have suffered terribly +and horribly. There was no respite nor rest from the hard surface of +the rock, and aching muscles could find no change from the cramped and +perilous position. If he fell, it was damnation for his soul—all were +agreed as to this. + +But man’s body and mind accommodate themselves to almost any +condition. One thing at least, Simeon was free from economic +responsibilities, free from social cares and intrusion. Bores with sad +stories of unappreciated lives and fond hopes unrealized, never broke +in upon his peace. He was not pressed for time. No frivolous dame of +tarnished fame sought to share with him his perilous perch. The people +on a slow schedule, ten minutes late, never irritated his temper. His +correspondence never got in a heap. + +Simeon kept no track of the days, having no engagements to meet, nor +offices to perform, beyond the prayers at morn, midday and night. + +Memory died in him, the hurts became callouses, the world-pain died +out of his heart, and to cling became a habit. + +Language was lost in disuse. + +The food he ate was minimum in quantity; sensation ceased, and the +dry, hot winds reduced bodily tissue to a dessicated something called +a saint—loved, feared and reverenced for his fortitude. + +This pillar, which had once graced the portal of a pagan temple, again +became a place of pious pilgrimage, and people flocked to Simeon’s +rock, so that they might be near when he stretched out his black, bony +hands to the East, and the spirit of Almighty God, for a space, +hovered close around. + +So much attention did the abnegation of Simeon attract that various +other pillars, marking the ruins of art and greatness gone, in that +vicinity, were crowned with pious monks. The thought of these monks +was to show how Christianity had triumphed over heathenism. Imitators +were numerous. About then the Bishops in assembly asked, “Is Simeon +sincere?” To test the matter of Simeon’s pride, he was ordered to come +down from his retreat. + +As to his chastity, there was little doubt, his poverty was beyond +question, but how about obedience to his superiors? + +The order was shouted up to him in a Bishop’s voice—he must let down +his rope, draw up a ladder, and descend. + +Straightway Simeon made preparation to obey. And then the Bishops +relented and cried, “We have changed our minds, and now order you to +remain!” + +Simeon lifted his hands in adoration and thankfulness and renewed his +lease. + +And so he lived on and on and on—he lived on the top of that pillar, +never once descending for thirty years. + +All his former companions grew aweary, and one by one died, and the +monastery bells tolled their requiem as they were laid to rest. Did +Simeon hear the bells and say, “Soon it will be my turn”? + +Probably not. His senses had flown, for what good were they! The young +monk who now at eventide brought the basket with the bottle of goat’s +milk and the loaf of brown bread was born since Simeon had taken his +place on the pillar. + +“He has always been there,” the people said, and crossed themselves +hurriedly. + +But one evening when the young monk came with his basket, no line was +dropped down from above. He waited and then called aloud, but all in +vain. + +When sunrise came, there sat the monk, his face between his knees, the +folds of his black robe drawn over his head. But he did not rise and +lift his hands in prayer. + +All day he sat there, motionless. + +The people watched in whispered silence. Would he arise at sundown and +pray, and with outstretched hands bless the assembled pilgrims? + +And as they watched, a vulture came sailing slowly through the blue +ether, and circled nearer and nearer; and off on the horizon was +another—and still another, circling nearer and ever nearer. + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + I would write across the sky in letters of light this + undisputed truth, proven by every annal of history, + that the only way to help yourself is through loyalty + to those who trust and employ you. + + + BATTLE OF THE LITTLE BIG HORN + + +It was in the Spring of Eighteen Hundred Seventy-six that the Sioux on +the Dakota Reservation became restless, and after various fruitless +efforts to restrain them, moved Westward in a body. + +This periodic migration was a habit and a tradition of the tribe. For +hundreds of years they had visited the buffalo country on an annual +hunt. + +Now the buffaloes were gone, save for a few scattered herds in the +mountains. The Indians did not fully realize this, although they +realized that as the Whites came in, the game went out. The Sioux were +hunters and horsemen by nature. They traveled and moved about with +great freedom. If restrained or interfered with they grew irritable +and then hostile. + +Now they were full of fight. The Whites had ruined the hunting-grounds; +besides that, white soldiers had fought them if they moved to their +old haunts, sacred for their use and bequeathed to them by their +ancestors. In dead of Winter, when the snows lay deep and they were in +their teepees, crouching around the scanty fire, soldiers had charged +on horseback through the villages, shooting into the teepees, killing +women and children. + +At the head of these soldiers was a white chief, whom they called +Yellow Hair. He was a smashing, dashing, fearless soldier who +understood the Indian ways and haunts, and then used this knowledge +for the undoing of the Red Men. + +Yellow Hair wanted to keep them in one little place all the time, and +desired that they should raise corn like cowardly Crows, when what +they wanted was to be free and hunt! + +They feared Yellow Hair—and hated him. + +Custer was a man of intelligence—nervous, energetic, proud. His +honesty and sincerity were beyond dispute. He was a natural Indian +fighter. He could pull his belt one hole tighter and go three whole +days without food. He could ride like the wind, or crawl in the grass, +and knew how to strike, quickly and unexpectedly, as the first streak +of dawn came into the East. Like Napoleon, he knew the value of time, +and, in fact, he had somewhat of the dash and daring, not to mention +the vanity, of the Corsican. His men believed in him and loved him, +for he marched them to victory, and with odds of five to one had won +again and again. + + ------------------------------------- + +But Custer had the defect of his qualities; and to use the Lincoln +phrase, sometimes took counsel of his ambition. + +He had fought in the Civil War in places where no prisoners were +taken, and where there was no commissary. And this wild, free life had +bred in him a habit of unrest—a chafing at discipline and all rules of +modern warfare. + +Results were the only things he cared for, and power was his Deity. + +When the Indians grew restless in the Spring of Seventy-six, Custer +was called to Washington for consultation. President Grant was not +satisfied with our Indian policy—he thought that in some ways the +Whites were the real savages. The Indians he considered as children, +not as criminals. + +Custer tried to tell him differently. Custer knew the bloodthirsty +character of the Sioux, their treachery and cunning—he showed scars by +way of proof! + +The authorities at Washington needed Custer. However, his view of the +case did not mean theirs. Custer believed in the mailed hand, and if +given the power he declared he would settle the Indian Question in +America once and forever. His confidence and assumption and what +Senator Dawes called swagger were not to their liking. Anyway, Custer +was attracting altogether too much attention—the people followed him +on Pennsylvania Avenue whenever he appeared. + +General Terry was chosen to head the expedition against the hostile +Sioux, and Custer was to go as second in command. + +Terry was older than Custer, but Custer had seen more service on the +plains. Custer demurred—threatened to resign—and wrote a note to the +President asking for a personal interview and requesting a review of +the situation. + +President Grant refused to see Custer, and reminded him that the first +duty of a soldier was obedience. + +Custer left Washington, glum and sullen—grieved. But he was a soldier, +and so he reported at Fort Lincoln, as ordered, to serve under a man +who knew less about Indian fighting than did he. + +The force of a thousand men embarked on six boats at Bismarck. There a +banquet was given in honor of Terry and Custer. “You will hear from us +by courier before July Fourth,” said Custer. + +He was still moody and depressed, but declared his willingness to do +his duty. + +Terry did not like his attitude and told him so. Poor Custer was stung +by the reprimand. + +He was only a boy, thirty-seven years old, to be sure, but with the +whimsical, daring, ambitious and jealous quality of the center-rush. +Custer at times had his eye on the White House—why not! Had not Grant +been a soldier? + +Women worshiped Custer, and men who knew him, never doubted his +earnestness and honesty. He lacked humor. + +He was both sincere and serious. + +The expedition moved on up the tortuous Missouri, tying up at night to +avoid the treacherous sandbars that lay in wait. + +They had reached the Yellowstone River, and were getting into the +Indian Country. + +To lighten the boats, Terry divided his force into two parts. Custer +disembarked on the morning of the Twenty-fifth of June, with four +hundred forty-three men, besides a dozen who looked after the +pack-train. + +Scouts reported that the hostile Sioux were camped on the Little Big +Horn, seventy-five miles across the country. + +Terry gave Custer orders to march the seventy-five miles in +forty-eight hours, and attack the Indians at the head of their camp at +daylight on the morning of the Twenty-seventh. There was to be no +parley—panic was the thing desired, and when Custer had started the +savages on the run, Terry would attack them at the other end of their +village, and the two fleeing mobs of savages would be driven on each +other, and then they would cast down their arms and the trick would be +done. + +Next, to throw a cordon of soldiers around the camp and hold it would +be easy. + + ------------------------------------- + +Custer and his men rode away at about eight o’clock on the morning of +the Twenty-fifth. They were in high spirits, for the cramped quarters +on the transports made freedom doubly grateful. + +They disappeared across the mesa and through the gray-brown hills, and +soon only a cloud of dust marked their passage. + +After five miles had been turned off on a walk, Custer ordered a trot, +and then, where the ground was level, a canter. + +On they went. + +They pitched camp at four o’clock, having covered forty miles. The +horses were unsaddled and fed, and supper cooked and eaten. + +But sleep was not to be—these men shall sleep no more! + +The bugles sounded “Boots and Saddles.” Before sunset they were again +on their way. + + ------------------------------------- + +By three o’clock on the morning of the Twenty-sixth, they had covered +more than seventy miles. + +They halted for coffee. + +The night, waiting for the dawn, was doubly dark. + +Fast-riding scouts had gone on ahead, and now reported the Indians +camped just over the ridge, four miles away. + +Custer divided his force into two parts. The Indians were camped along +the river for three miles. There were about two thousand of them, and +the women and children were with them. + +Reno with two hundred fifty men was ordered to swing around and attack +the village from the South. Custer with one hundred ninety-three men +would watch the charge, and when the valiant Reno had started the +panic and the Indians were in confusion, his force would then sweep +around and charge them from the other end of the village. + +This was Terry’s plan of battle, only Custer was going to make the +capture without Terry’s help. + +When Terry came up the following day, he would find the work all done +and neatly, too. Results are the only things that count, and victory +justifies itself. + +The battle would go down on the records as Custer’s triumph! + +Reno took a two-mile detour, and just at peep of day, ere the sun had +gilded the tops of the cottonwoods, charged, with yells and rapid +firing, into the Indian village. Custer stood on the ridge, his men +mounted and impatient just below on the other side. + +He could distinguish Reno’s soldiers as they charged into the +underbrush. Their shouts and the sound of firing filled his fighter’s +heart. + +The Indians were in confusion—he could see them by the dim light, +stampeding. They were running in brownish masses right around the +front of the hill where he stood. He ordered the bugles to blow the +charge. + +The soldiers greeted the order with a yell—tired muscles, the +sleepless night, its seventy-five miles of hard riding, were +forgotten. The battle would be fought and won in less time than a man +takes to eat his breakfast. + +Down the slope swept Custer’s men to meet the fleeing foe. + +But now the savages had ceased to flee. They lay in the grass and +fired. + +Several of Custer’s horses fell. + +Three of his men threw up their hands, and dropped from their saddles, +limp like bags of oats, and their horses ran on alone. + +The gully below was full of Indians, and these sent a murderous fire +at Custer as he came. His horses swerved, but several ran right on and +disappeared, horse and rider in the sunken ditch, as did Napoleon’s +men at Waterloo. + +The mad, headlong charge hesitated. The cottonwoods, the water and the +teepees were a hundred yards away. + +Custer glanced back, and a mile distant saw Reno’s soldiers galloping +wildly up the steep slope of the hill. + +Reno’s charge had failed—instead of riding straight down through the +length of the village and meeting Custer, he had gotten only fifty +rods, and then had been met by a steady fire from Indians who held +their ground. He wedged them back, but his horses, already overridden, +refused to go on, and the charging troops were simply carried out of +the woods into the open, and once there they took to the hills for +safety, leaving behind, dead, one-third of their force. + +Custer quickly realized the hopelessness of charging alone into a mass +of Indians, who were exultant and savage in the thought of victory. +Panic was not for them. + + ------------------------------------- + +They were armed with Springfield rifles, while the soldiers had only +short-range carbines. + +The bugles now ordered a retreat, and Custer’s men rode back to the +top of the hill—with intent to join forces with Reno. + + ------------------------------------- + +Reno was hopelessly cut off. Determined Sioux filled the gully that +separated the two little bands of brave men. + +Custer, evidently, thought that Reno had simply withdrawn to re-form +his troop, and that any moment Reno would ride to his rescue. + +Custer decided to hold the hill. + +The Indians were shooting at him from long range, occasionally killing +a horse. + +He told off his fours and ordered the horses sent to the rear. + +The fours led their horses back toward where they had left their +packmules when they had stopped for coffee at three o’clock. + +But the fours had not gone half a mile when they were surrounded by a +mob of Indians that just closed in on them. Every man was killed—the +horses were galloped off by the women and children. + +Custer now realized that he was caught in a trap. The ridge where his +men lay face down was half a mile long, and not more than twenty feet +across at the top. The Indians were everywhere—in the gullies, in the +grass, in little scooped-out holes. The bullets whizzed above the +heads of Custer’s men as they lay there, flattening their bodies in +the dust. + +The morning sun came out, dazzling and hot. + +It was only nine o’clock. + +The men were without food and without water. The Little Big Horn +danced over its rocky bed and shimmered in the golden light, only half +a mile away, and there in the cool, limpid stream they had been +confident they would now swim and fish, the battle over, while they +proudly held the disarmed Indians against General Terry’s coming. + +But the fight had not been won, and death lay between them and water. +The only thing to do was to await Reno or Terry. Reno might come at +any time, and Terry would arrive without fail at tomorrow’s dawn—he +had said so, and his word was the word of a soldier. + +Custer had blundered. + +The fight was lost. + +Now it was just a question of endurance. Noon came, and the buzzards +began to gather in the azure. + +The sun was blistering hot—there was not a tree, nor a bush, nor a +green blade of grass within reach. + +The men had ceased to joke and banter. The situation was serious. Some +tried to smoke, but their parching thirst was thus only +aggravated—they threw their pipes away. + +The Indians now kept up an occasional shooting. + +They were playing with the soldiers as a cat plays with a mouse. + +The Indian is a cautious fighter—he makes no sacrifices in order to +win. Now he had his prey secure. + +Soon the soldiers would run out of ammunition, and then one more day, +or two at least, and thirst and fatigue would reduce brave men into +old women, and the squaws could rush in and pound them on the head +with clubs. + +The afternoon dragged along its awful length. Time dwindled and +dawdled. + +At last the sun sank, a ball of fire in the West. + +The moon came out. + +Now and then a Sioux would creep up into shadowy view, but a shot from +a soldier would send him back into hiding. Down in the cottonwoods the +squaws made campfires and were holding a dance, singing their songs of +victory. + +Custer warned his men that sleep was death. This was their second +sleepless night, and the men were feverish with fatigue. Some babbled +in strange tongues, and talked with sisters and sweethearts and people +who were not there—reason was tottering. + +With Custer was an Indian boy, sixteen years old, “Curley the Crow.” +Custer now at about midnight told Curley to strip himself and crawl +out among the Indians, and if possible, get out through the lines and +tell Terry of their position. Several of Custer’s men had tried to +reach water, but none came back. + +Curley got through the lines—his boldness in mixing with the Indians +and his red skin saving him. He took a long way round and ran to tell +Terry the seriousness of the situation. + +Terry was advancing, but was hampered and harassed by Indians for +twenty miles. They fired at him from gullies, ridges, rocks, prairie-dog +mounds, and then retreated. He had to move with caution. Instead of +arriving at daylight as he expected, Terry was three hours behind. The +Indians surrounding Custer saw the dust from the advancing troop. + +They hesitated to charge Custer boldly as he lay on the hilltop, +entrenched by little ditches dug in the night with knives, tin cups +and bleeding fingers. + +It was easy to destroy Custer, but it meant a dead Sioux for every +white soldier. + +The Indians made sham charges to draw Custer’s fire, and then +withdrew. + +They circled closer. The squaws came up with sticks and stones and +menaced wildly. + +Custer’s fire grew less and less. He was running out of ammunition. + +Terry was only five miles away. + +The Indians closed in like a cloud around Custer and his few +survivors. + +It was a hand-to-hand fight—one against a hundred. + +In five minutes every man was dead, and the squaws were stripping the +mangled and bleeding forms. + +Already the main body of Indians was trailing across the plains toward +the mountains. + +Terry arrived, but it was too late. + +An hour later Reno limped in, famished, half of his men dead or +wounded, sick, undone. + +To follow the fleeing Indians was useless—the dead soldiers must be +decently buried, and the living succored. Terry himself had suffered +sore. + +The Indians were five thousand strong, not two. They had gathered up +all the other tribes for more than a hundred miles. Now they moved +North toward Canada. Terry tried to follow, but they held him off with +a rear-guard, like white veterans. The Indians escaped across the +border. + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + Anybody can order, but to serve with grace, tact and + effectiveness is a fine art. + + + SAM + + +In San Francisco lived a lawyer—age, sixty—rich in money, rich in +intellect, a business man with many interests. + +Now, this lawyer was a bachelor, and lived in apartments with his +Chinese servant “Sam.” + +Sam and his master had been together for fifteen years. + +The servant knew the wants of his employer as though he were his other +self. No orders were necessary. + +If there was to be a company—one guest or a hundred—Sam was told the +number, that was all, and everything was provided. + +This servant was cook, valet, watchman, friend. + +No stray, unwished-for visitor ever got to the master to rob him of +his rest when he was at home. + +If extra help was wanted, Sam secured it; he bought what was needed; +and when the lawyer awakened in the morning, it was to the singing of +a tiny music-box with a clock attachment set for seven o’clock. + +The bath was ready; a clean shirt was there on the dresser, with studs +and buttons in place; collar and scarf were near; the suit of clothes +desired hung over a chair; the right pair of shoes, polished like a +mirror, was at hand, and on the mantel was a half-blown rose, with the +dew still upon it, for a boutonniere. + +Downstairs, the breakfast, hot and savory, waited. + +When the good man was ready to go to the office, silent as a shadow +stood Sam in the hallway, with overcoat, hat and cane in hand. + +When the weather was threatening, an umbrella was substituted for the +cane. The door was opened, and the master departed. + +When he returned at nightfall, on his approach the door swung wide. + +Sam never took a vacation; he seemed not to either eat or sleep. + +He was always near when needed; he disappeared when he should. + +He knew nothing and he knew everything. + +For weeks scarcely a word might pass between these men, they +understood each other so well. + +The lawyer grew to have a great affection for his servant. + +He paid him a hundred dollars a month, and tried to devise other ways +to show his gratitude; but Sam wanted nothing, not even thanks. + +All he desired was the privilege to serve. + +But one morning as Sam poured his master’s coffee, he said quietly, +without a shade of emotion on his yellow face, “Next week I leave +you.” + +The lawyer smiled. + +“Next week I leave you,” repeated the Chinese; “I hire for you better +man.” + +The lawyer set down his cup of coffee. He looked at the white-robed +servant. He felt the man was in earnest. + +“So you are going to leave me—I do not pay you enough, eh? That Doctor +Sanders who was here—he knows what a treasure you are. Don’t be a +fool, Sam; I’ll make it a hundred and fifty a month—say no more.” + +“Next week I leave you—I go to China,” said the servant impassively. + +“Oh, I see! You are going back for a wife? All right, bring her +here—you will return in two months? I do not object; bring your wife +here—there is work for two to keep this place in order. The place is +lonely, anyway. I’ll see the Collector of the Port, myself, and +arrange your passage-papers.” + +“I go to China next week: I need no papers—I never come back,” said +the man with exasperating calmness and persistence. + +"By God, you shall not go!" said the lawyer. + +“By God, I will!” answered the heathen. + +It was the first time in their experience together that the servant +had used such language, or such a tone, toward his master. + +The lawyer pushed his chair back, and after an instant said, quietly, +“Sam, you must forgive me; I spoke quickly. I do not own you—but tell +me, what have I done—why do you leave me this way, you know I need +you!” + +“I will not tell you why I go—you laugh.” + +“No, I shall not laugh.” + +“You will.” + +“I say, I will not.” + +“Very well, I go to China to die!” + +“Nonsense! You can die here. Haven’t I agreed to send your body back +if you die before I do?” + +“I die in four weeks, two days!” + +“What!” + +“My brother, he in prison. He twenty-six, I fifty. He have wife and +baby. In China they accept any man same family to die. I go to China, +give my money to my brother—he live, I die!” + +The next day a new Chinaman appeared as servant in the lawyer’s +household. In a week this servant knew everything, and nothing, just +like Sam. + +And Sam disappeared, without saying good-by. + +He went to China and was beheaded, four weeks and two days from the +day he broke the news of his intent to go. + +His brother was set free. + +And the lawyer’s household goes along about as usual, save when the +master calls for “Sam,” when he should say, “Charlie.” + +At such times there comes a kind of clutch at his heart, but he says +nothing. + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + When power and beauty meet, the world would do well + to take to its cyclone-cellar. + + + CLEOPATRA AND CÆSAR + + +The sole surviving daughter of the great King Ptolemy of Egypt, +Cleopatra was seventeen years old when her father died. + +By his will the King made her joint heir to the throne with her +brother Ptolemy, several years her junior. And according to the custom +not unusual among royalty at that time, it was provided that Ptolemy +should become the husband of Cleopatra. + +She was a woman—her brother a child. + +She had intellect, ambition, talent. She knew the history of her own +country, and that of Assyria, Greece and Rome; and all the written +languages of the world were to her familiar. She had been educated by +the philosophers, who had brought from Greece the science of +Pythagoras and Plato. Her companions had been men—not women, or +nurses, or pious, pedantic priests. + +Through the veins of her young body pulsed and leaped life, plus. + +She abhorred the thought of an alliance with her weak-chinned brother; +and the ministers of State, who suggested another husband as a +compromise, were dismissed with a look. + +They said she was intractable, contemptuous, unreasonable, and was +scheming for the sole possession of the throne. + +She was not to be diverted even by ardent courtiers who were sent to +her, and who lay in wait ready with amorous sighs—she scorned them +all. + +Yet she was a woman still, and in her dreams she saw the coming +prince. + +She was banished from Alexandria. + +A few friends followed her, and an army was formed to force from the +enemy her rights. + +But other things were happening—a Roman army came leisurely drifting +in with the tide and disembarked at Alexandria. The Great Cæsar +himself was in command—a mere holiday, he said. He had intended to +join the land forces of Mark Antony and help crush the rebellious +Pompey, but Antony had done the trick alone; and only a few days +before, word had come that Pompey was dead. + +Cæsar knew that civil war was on in Alexandria, and being near he +sailed slowly in, sending messengers on ahead warning both sides to +lay down their arms. + +With him was the far-famed invincible Tenth Legion that had ravished +Gaul. Cæsar wanted to rest his men and, incidentally, to reward them. +They took possession of the city without a blow. + +Cleopatra’s troops laid down their arms, but Ptolemy’s refused. They +were simply chased beyond the walls, and their punishment for the time +being was deferred. + +Cæsar took possession of the palace of the King, and his soldiers +accommodated themselves in the houses, public buildings, and temples +as best they could. + +Cleopatra asked for a personal interview, in order to present her +cause. + +Cæsar declined to meet her—he understood the trouble—many such cases +he had seen. Claimants for thrones were not new to him. Where two +parties quarreled, both are right—or wrong—it really mattered little. + +It is absurd to quarrel—still more foolish to fight. + +Cæsar was a man of peace, and to keep the peace he would appoint one +of his generals governor, and make Egypt a Roman colony. + +In the meantime he would rest a week or two, with the kind permission +of the Alexandrians, and write upon his “Commentaries”—no, he would +not see either Cleopatra or Ptolemy—any desired information they would +get through his trusted emissaries. + +In the service of Cleopatra was a Sicilian slave who had been her +personal servant since she was a little girl. This man’s name was +Appolidorus. He was a man of giant stature and imposing mien. Ten +years before his tongue had been torn out as a token that as he was to +attend a queen he should tell no secrets. + +Appolidorus had but one thought in life, and that was to defend his +gracious queen. He slept at the door of Cleopatra’s tent, a naked +sword at his side, held in his clenched and brawny hand. + +And now behold at dusk of day the grim and silent Appolidorus, +carrying upon his giant shoulders a large and curious rug, rolled up +and tied ’round at each end with ropes. + +He approaches the palace of the King, and at the guarded gate hands a +note to the officer in charge. This note gives information to the +effect that a certain patrician citizen of Alexandria, being glad that +the gracious Cæsar had deigned to visit Egypt, sends him the richest +rug that can be woven—done, in fact, by his wife and daughters and +held against this day, awaiting Rome’s greatest son. + +The officer reads the note, and orders a soldier to accept the gift +and carry it within—presents were constantly arriving. A sign from the +dumb giant makes the soldier stand back—the present is for Cæsar and +can be delivered only in person. “Lead and I will follow,” were the +words done in stern pantomime. The officer laughs, sends in the note, +and the messenger soon returning, signifies that the present is +acceptable and the slave bearing it shall be shown in. Appolidorus +shifts his burden to the other shoulder, and follows the soldier +through the gate, up the marble steps, along the splendid hallway, +lighted by flaring torches and lined with reclining Roman soldiers. + +At a door they pause an instant, there is a whispered word—they enter. + +The room is furnished as becomes the room that is the private library +of the King of Egypt. In one corner, seated at the table, pen in hand, +sits a man of middle age, pale, clean-shaven, with hair close-cropped. +His dress is not that of a soldier—it is the flowing white robe of a +Roman Priest. Only one servant attends this man, a secretary, seated +near, who rises and explains that the present is acceptable and shall +be deposited on the floor. + +The pale man at the table looks up, smiles a tired smile and murmurs +in a perfunctory way his thanks. + +Appolidorus having laid his burden on the floor, kneels to untie the +ropes. The secretary explains that he need not trouble, pray bear +thanks and again thanks to his master—he need not tarry! + +The dumb man on his knees neither hears nor heeds. The rug is +unrolled. + +From out the roll a woman leaps lightly to her feet—a beautiful young +woman of twenty. + +She stands there, poised, defiant, gazing at the pale-faced man seated +at the table. + +He is not surprised—he never was. One might have supposed he received +all his visitors in this manner. + +“Well?” he says in a quiet way, a half-smile parting his thin lips. + +The breast of the woman heaves with tumultuous emotion—just an +instant. She speaks, and there is no tremor in her tones. Her voice is +low, smooth and scarcely audible: “I am Cleopatra.” + +The man at the desk lays down his pen, leans back and gently nods his +head, as much as to say, indulgently, “Yes, my child, I hear—go on!” + +“I am Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, and I would speak with thee, alone.” + +She pauses; then raising one jeweled arm motions to Appolidorus that +he shall withdraw. + +With a similar motion, the man at the desk signifies the same to his +astonished secretary. + + ------------------------------------- + +Appolidorus went down the long hallway, down the stone steps and +waited at the outer gate amid the throng of soldiers. They questioned +him, gibed him, railed at him, but they got no word in reply. + +He waited—he waited an hour, two—and then came a messenger with a note +written on a slip of parchment. The words ran thus: “Well-beloved +’Dorus: Veni, vidi, vici! Go fetch my maids; also, all of our personal +belongings.” + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + As the cities are all only two days from famine, so + is man’s life constantly but a step from dissolution. + + + A SPECIAL OCCASION + + +Once on a day, I spoke at the Athenæum, New Orleans, for the Young +Men’s Hebrew Association. + +When they had asked my fee I answered, “One Hundred Fifty Dollars.” +The reply was, “We will pay you Two Hundred—it is to be a special +occasion.” + +A carriage was sent to my hotel for me. The Jews may be close traders, +but when it comes to social functions, they know what to do. The Jew +is the most generous man in the world, even if he can be at times cent +per cent. + +As I approached the Athenæum I thought, “What a beautiful building!” +It was stone and brick—solid, subdued, complete and substantial. The +lower rooms were used for the Hebrew Club. Upstairs stretched the +splendid hall, as I could tell from the brilliantly lighted windows. + +Inside, I noticed that the stairways were carpeted with Brussels. +Glancing through the wide doorways, I beheld an audience of more than +two thousand people. The great chandeliers sent out a dazzling glory +from their crystal and gold. At the sides, rich tapestries and +hangings of velvet covered the windows. + +“A beautiful building,” I said to my old-time friend, Maurice J. Pass, +the Secretary of the Club. + +He smiled in satisfaction and replied, “Well, we seldom let things go +by default—you have tonight as fine an audience as ever assembled in +New Orleans.” + +We passed down a side hallway and under the stage, preparatory to +going on the platform. In this room below the stage a single electric +light shone. The place was dark and dingy, in singular contrast to the +beauty, light, cleanliness and order just beyond. In the corner were +tables piled high—evidently used for banquets—broken furniture and +discarded boxes. + +Several smart young men in full dress sat on the tables smoking +cigarettes. One young man said in explanation, “We were crowded +out—had to give up our seats to ladies—so we are going to sit on the +stage.” + +The soft blue smoke from the cigarettes seemed to hug close about the +lonely electric light. + +I saw the smoke and thought that beside the odor of tobacco I detected +the smell of smoldering pine. + +“Isn’t it a trifle smoky here?” I said to the young man nearest me. + +He laughed at this remark and handed me a cigarette. + +The Secretary of the Club and I went up the narrow stairs to the stage. +As we stood there behind the curtain I looked at the pleasant-faced +man. “You didn’t detect the odor of burning wood down there, did you?” +I asked. + +“No; but you see the windows are open, and there are bonfires outside, +I suppose.” + +“I am a fool,” I thought; “and James Whitcomb Riley was right when he +said that the speaker who is about to make his bow to an audience is +always so keyed up that at the moment he is incapable of sane +thinking.” + +I excused myself and walked over to an open window at the back of the +stage and looked down. + +It must have been forty feet to the stony street beneath. + +Then I went to a side window and threw up the sash. This window looked +out on a roof ten or twelve feet below. I got a broken broom that +stood in the corner and propped the window open. + +The thought of fire was upon me and I was inwardly planning what I +would do in case of a stampede. I am always thinking about what I +would do should this or that happen. Nothing can surprise me—not even +death. If any of my best helpers should leave me, I have it all +planned exactly whom I will put in their places. I have it arranged +who will take my own place—my will is made and my body is to be +cremated. + +“Cremated? Not tonight!” I said to myself, as I placed the broom under +the sash. “If a panic occurs, the people will go out of the doors and +I will stick to the stage until my coat-tails singe. I’ll say that the +fire is in an adjoining building; then I’ll smilingly bow myself off +the stage and gently drop out of that window.” + +“All ready when you are,” said Mr. Fass. + +I passed out on the stage before that vast sea of faces. + +It was a glorious sight. There was a row of military men from the +French warship in the harbor, down in front; priests, and ladies with +sparkling diamonds; a bishop wearing a purple vestment under his black +gown sat to one side; a stout lady in decollete waved a feather fan in +rhythmic, mystic motion, far back to the left. + +The audience applauded encouragingly, I wished I was back in that dear +East Aurora. But I began. + +In a few minutes my heart ceased to thump and I knew we were off. + +I spoke for two hours, and I spoke well. + +I did not push the lecture in front of me, nor did I drag it behind. I +got the chancery twist on it and carried it off big, as I do about one +time in ten. I finished in a whirlwind of applause, with the bishop +crying “Bravo!” and the fat lady with the fifty-dollar feather fan +beaming approbation. + +Fass stood in the wings to congratulate me. + + ------------------------------------- + +I shook hands with a hundred. The house slowly emptied. I bade the +genial Fass good-by. He took my hand in both of his. “You will come +back! You must come back!” he said. + +He walked with me, bareheaded, to my carriage. + +He again pressed my hand. + +I rode to my hotel and went to bed, and to sleep. + +I was awakened by a bright glare of light that filled my room. + +I got up and looked at my watch. It was just midnight. + +Off to the East I saw red tongues of angry flame streaking the sky +from horizon to zenith. + +“It is the Jewish Club, all right,” I said. + +I pulled down the blind and went back to bed. + +When I went down to breakfast at seven o’clock in the morning, I heard +the newsboys in the streets crying, “All about the fire!” I bought a +paper and read the headline, “Hubbard’s Lecture Hot Stuff!” + +I walked out Saint Charles Avenue and viewed the smoldering ruins +where only a few hours before I had spoken to more than two thousand +people—where the bishop in purple vestment had cried “Bravo!” and the +stout lady with feathered fan had beamed approval. + +“Was anybody hurt?” I asked one of the policemen on guard. + +“Only one man killed—Fass, the Secretary; I believe he lies somewhere +over there to the left, beneath that toppled wall.” + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + The person who reasons from a false premise is + always funny—to other folks. + + + UNCLE JOE AND AUNT MELINDA + + +The opinion prevails all through the truly rural districts that the +big cities are for the most part given over to Confidence Men. + +And the strange part is that the opinion is correct. + +But it should not be assumed that all the people in, say, Buffalo, are +moral derelicts—there are many visitors there, most of the time, from +other sections. + +And while at all times one should exercise caution, yet to assume that +the party who is “fresh” is intent on high crimes and misdemeanors may +be a rather hasty and unjust generalization. + +For instance, there are Uncle Joe and Aunt Melinda, who live eight +miles back from East Aurora, at Wales Hollow. They had been married +for forty-seven years, and had never taken a wedding-journey. They +decided to go to Buffalo and spend two days at a hotel regardless of +expense. + +Much had been told them about the Confidence Men who hang around the +railroad-station, and they were prepared. + +They arrived at East Aurora, where they were to take the train, an +hour ahead of time. The Jerkwater came in and they were duly seated, +when all at once Uncle Joe rushed for the door, jumped off and made +for the waiting-room looking for his carpetbag. It was on the train +all right, but he just forgot, and feeling sure he had left it in the +station made the grand skirmish as aforesaid. + +The result was that the train went off and left your Uncle Joseph. + +Aunt Melinda was much exercised, but the train-hands pacified her by +assurances that her husband would follow on the next train, and she +should simply wait for him in the depot at Buffalo. + +Now the Flyer was right behind the Jerkwater, and Uncle Joe took the +Flyer and got to Buffalo first. When the Jerkwater came in, Uncle Joe +was on the platform waiting for Aunt Melinda. + +As she disembarked he approached her. + +She shied and passed on. + +He persisted in his attentions. + +Then it was that she shook her umbrella at him and bade him hike. The +eternally feminine in her nature prompted self-preservation. She +banked on her reason—woman’s reason—not her intuition. She had started +first—her husband could only come on a later train. + +“Go ’way and leave me alone,” she shouted in shrill falsetto. “You +have got yourself up to look like my Joe—and that idiotic grin on your +homely face is just like my Joe, but no city sharper can fool me, and +if you don’t go right along I’ll call for the perlice!” + +She called for the police, and Uncle Joe had to show a strawberry-mark +to prove his identity, before he received recognition. + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + To be your brother’s keeper is beautiful if you do + not cease to be his friend. + + + BILLY AND THE BOOK + + +One day last Winter in New York I attended a police court on a side +street, just off lower Broadway. I was waiting to see my old friend +Rosenfeld in the Equitable Life Building, but as his office didn’t +open up until nine o’clock, I put in my time at the police court. + +There was the usual assortment of drunks, petty thieves—male and +female, black, white and coffee-colored—disorderlies, vagabonds and a +man in full-dress suit and a wide expanse of dull ecru shirt-bosom. + +The place was stuffy, foul-smelling, and reeked with a stale +combination of tobacco and beer and patchouli, and tears, curses, fear +and promises unkept. + +The Judge turned things off, but without haste. He showed more +patience and consideration than one usually sees on the bench. His +judgments seemed to be gentle and just. + +The courtroom was clearing, and I started to go. + + ------------------------------------- + +As I was passing down the icy steps a piping child’s voice called to +me, “Mister, please give me a lift!” + +There at the foot of the steps, standing in the snow, was a slender +slip of a girl, yellow and earnest, say ten years old, with a shawl +pinned over her head. She held in her hand a rope, and this rope was +tied to a hand-sled. On this sled sat a little boy, shivering, dumpy +and depressed, his bare red hands clutching the seat. + +“Mister, I say, please give me a lift!” + +“Sure!” I said. + +It was a funny sight. + +This girl seemed absolutely unconscious of herself. She was not at all +abashed, and very much in earnest about something. + +Evidently she had watched the people coming out and had waited until +one appeared that she thought safe to call on for help. + +“Of course I’ll give you a lift—what is it you want me to do?” + +“I’ve got to go inside and see the Judge. It’s about my brudder here. +He is six, goin’ on seven, and they sent him home from school ’cause +they said he wasn’t old enough. I’m going to have that teacher +’rested. I’ve got the Bible here that says he’s six years old. If +you’ll carry the book I’ll bring Billy and the sled!” + +“Where is the Bible?” I asked. + +“Billy’s settin’ on it.” + +It was a big, black, greasy Family Bible, evidently a relic of better +days. It had probably been hidden under the bed for safety. + +The girl grappled the sled with one hand, and with the other Billy’s +little red fist. + +I followed, carrying the big, black, greasy Family Bible. + +Evidently this girl had been here before. She walked around the end of +the judicial bar, and laid down the sled. Then she took the Bible out +of my hands. It was about all she could do to lift it. + +In a shrill, piping voice, full of business, and very much in earnest, +she addressed the Judge: “I say, Mister Judge, they sent my brudder +Billy away from school, they did. He’s six, goin’ on seven, and I want +that teacher ’rested and brought here so you can tell her to let Billy +go to school. Here is our Family Bible—you can see for yourself how +old Billy is!” + +The Judge adjusted his glasses, stared, and exclaimed, “God bless my +soul!” + +Then he called a big, blue-coated officer over and said: “Mike, you go +with this little girl and her brother, and tell that teacher, if +possible, to allow the boy to go to school; that I say he is old +enough. You understand! If you do not succeed, come back and tell me +why.” + +The officer smiled and saluted. + +The big policeman took the little boy in his arms. The girl carried +the sled, and I followed with the Family Bible. + +The officer looked at me—“Newspaper man, I s’pose?” + +“Yes,” I said. + +“What paper?” + +“The American.” + +“It’s the best ever.” + +“I think so—possibly with a few exceptions.” + +“She’s the queerest lot yet, is this kid,” and the big bluecoat jerked +his thumb toward the girl. + +I suggested that we go to the restaurant across the way and get a bite +of something to eat. + +“I’m not hungry,” said the officer, “but the youngsters look as if +they hadn’t et since day before yesterday.” + +We lined up at the counter. + +The officer drank two cups of coffee and ate a ham sandwich, two +hard-boiled eggs, a plate of cakes and a piece of pie. + +The girl and her brother each had a plate of cakes, a piece of pie and +a glass of milk. + +“What’s yours?” asked the waiter. + +“Same,” said I. + +As I did not care for the cakes, the officer cleaned the plate for me. + +I didn’t have time to go to the school, but the officer assured me +that he would “fix it,” and he winked knowingly, as if he had looked +after such things before. He was kind, but determined, and I had +confidence he would see that the little boy was duly admitted. + +I started up the street alone. + +They went the other way. The officer carried the little boy. + +The girl with the shawl over her head followed, pulling the hand-sled, +and on the sled rested the big, black Family Bible. I lost sight of +them as they turned the corner. + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + An act is only a crystallized thought. + + + JOHN THE BAPTIST AND SALOME + + +John the Baptist, the strong, fine youth, came up out of the +wilderness crying in the streets of Jerusalem, “Repent ye! Repent ye!” + +Salome heard the call and from her window looked with half- closed, +catlike eyes upon the semi-naked, young fanatic. + +She smiled, did this idle creature of luxury, as she lay there amid +the cushions on her couch, and gazed through the casement upon the +preacher in the street. + +Suddenly a thought came to her. + +She arose on her elbow—she called her slaves. + +They clothed her in a gaudy gown, dressed her hair, and led her forth. + +Salome followed the wild, weird, religious enthusiast. + +She pushed through the crowd and placed herself near the man, so the +smell of her body would reach his nostrils. + +His eyes ranged the swelling lines of her body. + +Their eyes met. + +She half-smiled and gave him that look which had snared the soul of +many another. + +But he only gazed at her with passionless, judging intensity and +repeated his cry, “Repent ye. Repent ye, for the day is at hand!” + +Her reply, uttered soft and low, was this: “I would kiss thy lips!” + +He moved away and she reached to seize his garment, repeating, “I +would kiss thy lips—I would kiss thy lips!” + +He turned aside, and forgot her, as he continued his warning cry, and +went his way. + +The next day she waylaid the youth again; as he came near she suddenly +and softly stepped forth and said in that same low, purring voice, “I +would kiss thy lips!” + +He repulsed her with scorn. + +She threw her arms about him and sought to draw his head down near +hers. + +He pushed her from him with sinewy hands, sprang as from a pestilence, +and was lost in the pressing throng. + +That night she danced before Herod Antipas, and when the promise was +recalled that she should have anything she wished, she named the head +of the only man who had ever turned away from her. “The head of John +the Baptist on a charger!” + +In an hour the wish was gratified. + +Two eunuchs stood before Salome with a silver tray bearing its +fearsome burden. + +The woman smiled—a smile of triumph, as she stepped forth with +tinkling feet. + +A look of pride came over the painted face. + +Her jeweled fingers reached into the blood-matted hair. She lifted the +head aloft, and the bracelets on her brown, bare arms fell to her +shoulders, making strange music. Her face pressed the face of the +dead. + +In exultation she exclaimed, “I have kissed thy lips!” + + + + ------------------------------------- + + He who influences the thought of his time influences + the thought of all the time that follows. And he has + made his impress upon eternity. + + + THE MASTER + + +Giovanni Bellini was his name. + +Yet when people who loved beautiful pictures spoke of “Gian,” every +one knew who was meant; but to those who worked at art he was “The +Master.” He was two inches under six feet in height, strong and +muscular. In spite of his seventy summers his carriage was erect, and +there was a jaunty suppleness about his gait that made him seem much +younger. In fact, no one would have believed he had lived over his +threescore and ten, were it not for the iron-gray hair that fluffed +out all around under the close-fitting black cap, and the bronzed +complexion—sun-kissed by wind and by weather—which formed a trinity of +opposites that made people turn and stare. + +Queer stories used to be told about him. He was a skilful gondolier, +and it was the daily row back and forth from the Lido that gave him +that face of bronze. Folks said he ate no meat and drank no wine, and +that his food was simply ripe figs in the season, with coarse rye +bread and nuts. + +Then there was that funny old hunchback, a hundred years old at least, +and stone-deaf, who took care of the gondola, spending the whole day, +waiting for his master, washing the trim, graceful, blue-black boat, +arranging the awning with the white cords and tassels, and polishing +the little brass lions at the sides. People tried to question the old +hunchback, but he gave no secrets away. The master always stood up +behind and rowed; while down on the cushions rode the hunchback, the +guest of honor. + +There stood the master erect, plying the oar, his long black robe +tucked up under the dark blue sash that exactly matched the color of +the gondola. The man’s motto might have been, “Ich Dien,” or that +passage of Scripture, “He that is greatest among you shall be your +servant.” Suspended around his neck by a slender chain was a bronze +medal, presented by vote of the Signoria when the great picture of +“The Transfiguration” was unveiled. If this medal had been a crucifix, +and you had met the wearer in San Marco, one glance at the finely +chiseled features, the black cap and the flowing robe and you would +have said at once the man was a priest, Vicar-General of some +important diocese. But seeing him standing erect on the stern of a +gondola, the wind caressing the dark gray hair, you would have been +perplexed until your gondolier explained in serious undertone that you +had just passed “the greatest Painter in all Venice, Gian, the +Master.” + +Then, if you showed curiosity and wanted to know further, the +gondolier would have told you more about this strange man. + +The canals of Venice are the highways, and the gondoliers are like +’bus-drivers in Piccadilly—they know everybody and are in close touch +with all the Secrets of State. When you get to the Gindecca and tie up +for lunch, over a bottle of Chianti, your gondolier will tell you +this: + +The hunchback there in the gondola, rowed by the Master, is the Devil, +who has taken that form just to be with and guard the greatest artist +the world has ever seen. Yes, Signor, that clean-faced man with his +frank, wide-open, brown eyes is in league with the Evil One. He is the +man who took young Tiziano from Cadore into his shop, right out of a +glass-factory, and made him a great artist, getting him commissions +and introducing him everywhere! And how about the divine Giorgione who +called him father? Oho! + +And who is Giorgione? The son of some unknown peasant woman. And if +Bellini wanted to adopt him, treat him as his son indeed, kissing him +on the cheek when he came back just from a day’s visit to Mestre, +whose business was it! Oho! + +Beside that, his name isn’t Giorgione—it is Giorgio Barbarelli. And +didn’t this Giorgio Barbarelli, and Tiziano from Cadore, and Espero +Carbonne, and that Gustavo from Nuremberg, and the others paint most +of Gian’s pictures? Surely they did. The old man simply washes in the +backgrounds and the boys do the work. About all old Gian does is to +sign the picture, sell it and pocket the proceeds. Carpaccio helps +him, too—Carpaccio who painted the loveliest little angel sitting +cross-legged playing the biggest mandolin you ever saw in your life. + +That is genius, you know, the ability to get some one else to do the +work, and then capture the ducats and the honors for yourself. Of +course, Gian knows how to lure the boys on—something has to be done in +order to hold them. Gian buys a picture from them now and then; his +studio is full of their work—better than he can do. Oh, he knows a +good thing when he sees it. These pictures will be valuable some day, +and he gets them at his own price. It was Antonello of Messina who +introduced oil-painting into Venice. Before that they mixed their +paints with water, milk or wine. But when Antonello came along with +his dark, lustrous pictures, he set all artistic Venice astir. Gian +Bellini discovered the secret, they say, by feigning to be a gentleman +and going to the newcomer and sitting for his picture. He it was who +discovered that Antonello mixed his colors with oil. Oho! + +Of course, not all of the pictures in his studio are painted by the +boys: some are painted by that old Dutchman what’s-his-name—oh, yes, +Durer, Alberto Durer of Nuremberg. Two Nuremberg painters were in that +very gondola last week just where you sit—they are here in Venice now, +taking lessons from Gian, they said. Gian was up there to Nuremberg +and lived a month with Durer—they worked together, drank beer +together, I suppose, and caroused. Gian is very strict about what he +does in Venice, but you can never tell what a man will do when he is +away from home. The Germans are a roystering lot—but they do say they +can paint. Me? I have never been up there—and do not want to go, +either—there are no canals there. To be sure, they print books in +Nuremberg. It was up there somewhere that they invented type, a lazy +scheme to do away with writing. They are a thrifty lot—those +Germans—they give me my fare and a penny more, just a single penny, +and no matter how much I have talked and pointed out the wonderful +sights, and imparted useful information, known to me alone—only one +penny extra—think of it! + +Yes, printing was first done at Mayence by a German, Gutenberg, about +sixty years ago. One of Gutenberg’s workmen went up to Nuremberg and +taught others how to design and cast type. This man, Alberto Durer, +helped them, designing the initials and making their title-pages by +cutting the design on a wood block, then covering this block with ink, +laying a sheet of paper upon it, placing it in a press, and then when +the paper is lifted off it looks exactly like the original drawing. In +fact, most people couldn’t tell the difference, and here you can print +thousands of them from the one block. + +Bellini makes drawings for title-pages and initials for Aldus and +Nicholas Jenson. Venice is the greatest printing place in the world, +and yet the business began here only thirty years ago. The first book +printed here was in Fourteen Hundred Sixty-nine, by John of Speyer. +There are two hundred licensed printing-presses here, and it takes +usually four men to a press—two to set the type and get things ready, +and two to run the press. This does not count, of course, the men who +write the books, and those who make the type and cut the blocks from +which they print the pictures for the illustrations. At first, you +know, the books they printed in Venice had no title-pages, initials or +illustrations. My father was a printer and he remembers when the first +large initials were printed—before that the spaces were left blank and +the books were sent out to the monasteries to be completed by hand. + +Gian and Gentile had a good deal to do about cutting the first blocks +for initials—they got the idea, I think, from Nuremberg. And now there +are Dutchmen down here from Amsterdam learning how to print books and +paint pictures. Several of them are in Gian’s studio, I hear—every +once in a while I get them for a trip to the Lido or to Murano. + +Gentile Bellini is his brother and looks very much like him. The Grand +Turk at Constantinople came here once and saw Gian Bellini at work in +the Great Hall. He had never seen a good picture before and was +amazed. He wanted the Senate to sell Gian to him, thinking he was a +slave. They humored the Pagan by hiring Gentile Bellini to go instead, +loaning him out for two years, so to speak. + +Gentile went, and the Sultan, who never allowed any one to stand +before him, all having to grovel in the dirt, treated Gentile as an +equal. Gentile even taught the old rogue to draw a little, and they +say the painter had a key to every room in the palace, and was treated +like a prince. + +Well, they got along all right, until one day Gentile drew the picture +of the head of John the Baptist on a charger. + +“A man’s head doesn’t look like that when it is cut off,” said the +Grand Turk contemptuously. Gentile had forgotten that the Turk was on +familiar ground. + +“Perhaps the Light of the Sun knows more about painting than I do!” +said Gentile, as he kept right on at his work. + +“I may not know much about painting, but I’m no fool in some other +things I might name,” was the reply. + +The Sultan clapped his hands three times: two slaves appeared from +opposite doors. One was a little ahead of the other, and as this one +approached, the Sultan with a single swing of the snickersnee snipped +off his head. This teaches us that obedience to our superiors is its +own reward. But the lesson was wholly lost on Gentile Bellini, for he +did not even remain to examine the severed head for art’s sake. The +thought that it might be his turn next was supreme, and he leaped +through a window, taking the sash with him. Making his way to the +docks he found a sailing vessel loading with fruit, bound for Venice. +A small purse of gold made the matter easy: the captain of the boat +secreted him, and in four days he was safely back in Saint Mark’s +giving thanks to God for his deliverance. + +No, I didn’t say Gian was a rogue—I only told you what others say. I +am only a poor gondolier—why should I trouble myself about what great +folks do? I simply tell you what I hear—it may be so, and it may not. +God knows! There is that Pascale Salvini—he has a rival studio—and +when that Genoese, Christoforo Colombo, was here and made his +stopping-place at Bellini’s studio, Pascale told every one that +Colombo was a lunatic, and Bellini another, for encouraging him to +show his foolish maps and charts. Now, they do say that Colombo has +discovered a new world, and Italians are feeling troubled in +conscience because they did not fit him out with ships instead of +forcing him to go to Spain. + +No, I didn’t say Bellini was a hypocrite—Pascale’s pupils say so, and +once they followed him over to Murano—three barca-loads and my gondola +beside. You see it was like this: Twice a week just after sundown, we +used to see Gian Bellini untie his boat from the landing there behind +the Doge’s palace, turn the prow, and beat out for Murano, with no +companion but that deaf old caretaker. Twice a week, Tuesdays and +Fridays—always at just the same hour, regardless of the weather—we +would see the old hunchback light the lamps, and in a few moments the +Master would appear, tuck up his black robe, step into the boat, take +the oar and away they would go. It was always to Murano, and always to +the same landing—one of our gondoliers had followed them several +times, just out of curiosity. + +Finally it came to the ears of Pascale that Gian took this regular +trip to Murano. “It is a rendezvous,” said Pascale. “It is worse than +that: an orgy among those lacemakers and the rogues of the glassworks. +Oh, to think that Gian should stoop to such things at his age—his +pretended asceticism is but a mask—and at his age!” + +The Pascale students took it up, and once came in collision with that +Tiziano of Cadore, who they say broke a boat-hook over the head of one +of them who had spoken ill of the Master. + +But this did not silence the talk, and one dark night, when the air +was full of flying mist, one of Pascale’s students came to me and told +me that he wanted me to take a party over to Murano. The weather was +so bad that I refused to go—the wind blew in gusts, sheet lightning +filled the Eastern sky, and all honest men, but poor belated +gondoliers, had hied them home. + +I refused to go. + +Had I not seen Gian the painter go not half an hour before? Well, if +he could go, others could too. + +I refused to go—except for double fare. + +He accepted and placed the double fare in silver in my palm. Then he +gave a whistle and from behind the corners came trooping enough +swashbuckler students to swamp my gondola. I let in just enough to +fill the seats and pushed off, leaving several standing on the stone +steps cursing me and everything and everybody. + +As my boat slid away in the fog and headed on our course, I glanced +back and saw the three barca-loads following in my wake. + +There was much muffled talk, and orders from some one in charge to +keep silence. But there was passing of strong drink, and then talk, +and from it I gathered that these were all students from Pascale’s, +out on one of those student carousals, intent on heaven knows what! It +was none of my business. + +We shipped considerable water, and some of the students were down on +their knees praying and bailing, bailing and praying. + +At last we reached the Murano landing. All got out, the barcas tied +up, and I tied up, too, determined to see what was doing. The strong +drink was passed, and a low, heavy-set fellow who seemed to be captain +charged all not to speak, but to follow him and do as he did. + +We took a side street where there was little travel and followed +through the dark and dripping way, fully a half-mile, down there in +that end of the island called the sailors’ broglio, where they say no +man’s life is safe if he has a silver coin or two. There was much +music in the wine-shops and shouts of mirth and dancing feet on stone +floors, but the rain had driven every one from the streets. + +We came to a long, low, stone building that used to be a theater, but +was now a dance-hall upstairs and a warehouse below. There were lights +upstairs and sounds of music. The stairway was dark, but we felt our +way up and on tiptoe advanced to the big double door, from under which +the light streamed. + +We had received our orders, and when we got to the landing we stood +there just an instant. “Now we have him—Gian the hypocrite!” whispered +the stout man in a hoarse breath. We burst in the doors with a whoop +and a bang. The change from the dark to the light sort of blinded us +at first. We all supposed that there was a dance in progress of +course, and the screams from women were just what we expected; but +when we saw several overturned easels and an old man, half-nude, and +too scared to move, seated on a model throne, we did not advance into +the hall as we intended. That one yell we gave was all the noise we +made. We stood there in a bunch, just inside the door, sort of dazed +and uncertain. We did not know whether to retreat, or charge on +through the hall as we had intended. We just stood there like a lot of +driveling fools. + +“Keep right at your work, my good people. Keep right at your work!” +called a pleasant voice. “I see we have some visitors.” + +And Gian Bellini came forward. His robe was still tucked up under the +blue sash, but he had laid aside his black cap, and his tumbled gray +hair looked like the aureole of a saint. “Keep right at your work,” he +said again, and then came forward and bade us welcome and begged us to +have seats. + +I dared not run away, so I sat down on one of the long seats that were +ranged around the wall. My companions did the same. There must have +been fifty easels, all ranged in a semicircle around the old man who +posed as a model. Several of the easels had been upset, and there was +much confusion when we entered. + +“Just help us to arrange things—that is right, thank you,” said Gian +to the stout man who was captain of our party. To my astonishment the +stout man was doing just as he was bid, and was pacifying the women +students and straightening up their easels and stools. + +I was interested in watching Gian walking around, helping this one +with a stroke of his crayon, saying a word to that, smiling and +nodding to another. I just sat there and stared. These students were +not regular art students, I could see that plainly. Some were +children, ragged and barelegged, others were old men who worked in the +glass-factories, and surely with hands too old and stiff to ever paint +well. Still others were women and young girls of the town. I rubbed my +eyes and tried to make it out! + +The music we heard I could still hear—it came from the wine-shop +across the way. I looked around and what do you believe? My companions +had all gone. They had sneaked out one by one and left me alone. + +I watched my chance and when the Master’s back was turned I tiptoed +out, too. + + ------------------------------------- + +When I got down on the street I found I had left my cap, but I dared +not go back after it. I made my way down to the landing, half running, +and when I got there not a boat was to be seen—the three barcas and my +gondola were gone. + +I thought I could see them, out through the mist, a quarter of a mile +away. I called aloud, but no answer came back but the hissing wind. I +was in despair—they were stealing my boat, and if they did not steal +it, it would surely be wrecked—my all, my precious boat! + +I cried and wrung my hands. I prayed! And the howling winds only ran +shrieking and laughing around the corners of the building. + +I saw a glimmering light down the beach at a little landing. I ran to +it, hoping some gondolier might be found who would row me over to the +city. There was one boat at the landing and in it a hunchback, sound +asleep, covered with a canvas. It was Gian Bellini’s boat. I shook the +hunchback into wakefulness and begged him to row me across to the +city. I yelled into his deaf ears, but he pretended not to understand +me. Then I showed him the silver coin—the double fare—and tried to +place it in his hand. But no, he only shook his head. + +I ran up the beach, still looking for a boat. + +An hour had passed. + + ------------------------------------- + +I got back to the landing just as Gian came down to his boat. + +I approached him and explained that I was a poor worker in the +glass-factory, who had to work all day and half the night, and as I +lived over in the city and my wife was dying, I must get home. Would +he allow me to ride with His Highness? “Certainly—with pleasure, with +pleasure!” he answered, and then pulling something from under his sash +he said, “Is this your cap, Signor?” I took my cap, but my tongue was +paralyzed for the moment so I could not thank him. + +The wind had died down, the rain had ceased, and from between the +blue-black clouds the moon shone out. Gian rowed with a strong, fine +stroke, singing a “Te Deum Laudamus” softly to himself the while. + +I lay there and wept, thinking of my boat, my all, my precious boat! + +We reached the landing—and there was my boat, safely tied up, not a +cushion nor a cord missing. + +Gian Bellini? He may be a rogue as Pascale Salvini says—God knows! How +can I tell—I am only a poor gondolier! + + ------------------------------------- + +So here then endeth the Volume entitled “The Mintage,” the same +being Ten Stories and One More written by Elbert Hubbard. The +whole done into a printed book by The Roycrofters at their Shop, +which is in the Village of East Aurora, Erie County, New York +State, this year of Grace mcmx and from the founding of The +Roycroft Shop the Sixteenth. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mintage, by Elbert Hubbard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MINTAGE *** + +***** This file should be named 17504-0.txt or 17504-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/5/0/17504/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/17504-0.zip b/17504-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8ca25f1 --- /dev/null +++ b/17504-0.zip diff --git a/17504-8.txt b/17504-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e89ceb8 --- /dev/null +++ b/17504-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2436 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mintage, by Elbert Hubbard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Mintage + +Author: Elbert Hubbard + +Release Date: January 12, 2006 [EBook #17504] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MINTAGE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +'Tis here you'll find the mintage of my mind.--_Goethe._ + + ------------------------------------- + + [Illustration: Elbert Hubbard] + + Elbert Hubbard + + +The Mintage +Being Ten Stories & One More +By Elbert Hubbard + +Copyright 1910 +Elbert Hubbard + + + + +CONTENTS + +FIVE BABIES +TO THE WEST +SIMEON STYLITES THE SYRIAN +BATTLE OF THE LITTLE BIG HORN +SAM +CLEOPATRA AND CSAR +A SPECIAL OCCASION +UNCLE JOE AND AUNT MELINDA +BILLY AND THE BOOK +JOHN THE BAPTIST AND SALOME +THE MASTER + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + All success consists in this: you are doing something + for somebody--are benefiting humanity; and the feeling + of success comes from the consciousness of this. + + + FIVE BABIES + + +Riding on the Grand Trunk Railway a few weeks ago, going from +Suspension Bridge to Chicago, I saw a sight so trivial that it seems +unworthy of mention. Yet for three weeks I have remembered it, and so +now I'll relate it, in order to get rid of it. + +And possibly these little incidents of life are the items that make or +mar existence. + +But here is what I saw on that railroad train: five children, the +oldest a girl of ten, and the youngest a baby boy of three. They were +traveling alone and had come from Germany, duly tagged, ticketed and +certified. + +They were going to their Grandmother at Waukegan, Illinois. + +The old lady was to meet them in Chicago. + +The children spoke not a word of English, but there is a universal +language of the heart that speaks and is understood. So the trainmen +and the children were on very chummy terms. + +Now, at London, Ontario, our train waited an hour for the Toronto and +Montreal connections. + +Just before we reached London, I saw the Conductor take the three +smallest little passengers to the washroom at the end of the car, roll +up their sleeves, turn their collars in, and duly wash their hands and +faces. Then he combed their hair. They accepted the situation as if +they belonged to the Conductor's family, as of course they did for the +time being. It was a domestic scene that caused the whole car to +smile, and made everybody know everybody else. A touch of nature makes +a whole coach kin. + +The children had a bushel-basket full of eatables, but at London that +Conductor took the whole brood over to the dining-hall for supper, and +I saw two fat men scrap as to who should have the privilege of paying +for the kiddies' suppers. The children munched and smiled and said +little things to each other in Teutonic whispers. + +After our train left London and the Conductor had taken up his +tickets, he came back, turned over two seats and placed the cushions +lengthwise. One of the trainmen borrowed a couple of blankets from the +sleeping-cars, and with the help of three volunteered overcoats, the +babies were all put to bed, and duly tucked in. + +I went back to my Pullman, and went to bed. And as I dozed off I kept +wondering whether the Grandmother would be there in the morning to +meet the little travelers. What sort of disaster had deprived them of +parents, I did not know, nor did I care to ask. The children were +alone, but among friends. They were strong and well, but they kept +very close together and looked to the oldest girl as a mother. + +But to be alone in Chicago would be terrible! Would she come! + +And so I slept. In the morning there was another Conductor in charge, +a man I had not before seen. I went into the day-coach, thinking that +the man might not know about the babies, and that I might possibly +help the little immigrants. But my services were not needed. The +ten-year-old "little other mother" had freshened up her family, and the +Conductor was assuring them, in awfully bad German, that their +Grandmother would be there--although, of course, he didn't know +anything at all about it. + +When the train pulled into the long depot and stopped, the Conductor +took the baby boy on one arm and a little girl on the other. + +A porter carried the big lunch-basket, and the little other mother led +a toddler on each side, dodging the hurrying passengers. + +Evidently I was the only spectator of the play. + + ------------------------------------- + +"Will she be there--will she be there?" I asked myself nervously. + +She was there, all right, there at the gate. The Conductor was +seemingly as gratified as I. He turned his charges over to the old +woman, who was weeping for joy, and hugging the children between +bursts of lavish, loving Deutsch. + +I climbed into a Parmelee bus and said, "Auditorium Annex, please." + +And as I sat there in the bus, while they were packing the grips on +top, the Conductor passed by, carrying a tin box in one hand and his +train cap in the other. + +I saw an Elk's tooth on his watch-chain. + +I called to him, "I saw you help the babies--good boy!" + +He looked at me in doubt. + +"Those German children," I said; "I'm glad you were so kind to them!" + +"Oh," he answered, smiling; "yes, I had forgotten; why, of course, +that is a railroad man's business, you know--to help everybody who +needs help." + +He waved his hand and disappeared up the stairway that led to the +offices. + +And it came to me that he had forgotten the incident so soon, simply +because to help had become the habit of his life. He may read this, +and he may not. There he was--big, bold, bluff and bronzed, his hair +just touched with the frost of years, and beneath his brass buttons a +heart beating with a desire to bless and benefit. I do not know his +name, but the sight of the man, carrying a child on each arm, their +arms encircling his neck in perfect faith, their long journey done, +and he turning them over in safety to their Grandmother, was something +to renew one's faith in humanity. + +Even a great Railway System has a soul. + +If you answer that corporations have no souls, I'll say: "Friend, you +were never more mistaken in your life. The business that has no soul +soon ceases to exist; and the success of a company or corporation +turns on the kind of soul it possesses. Soul is necessary to service. +Courtesy, kindness, honesty and efficiency are tangible soul-assets; +and all good railroad men know it." + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + By taking thought you can add cubits to your stature. + + + TO THE WEST + + +To stand by the open grave of one you have loved, and feel the sky +shut down over less worth in the world is the supreme test. + +There you prove your worth, if ever. + +You must live and face the day, and face each succeeding day, +realizing that "the moving finger writes, and having writ moves on, +nor all your tears shall blot a line of it." + +Heroes are born, but it is calamity that discovers them. + +Once in Western Kansas, in the early Eighties, I saw a loaded +four-horse wagon skid and topple in going across a gully. + +The driver sprang from his seat and tried to hold the wagon upright. + +The weight was too great for his strength, powerful man though he was. + +The horses swerved down the ditch instead of crossing it, and the +overturning wagon caught the man and pinned him to the ground. + +Half a dozen of us sprang from our horses. After much effort the +tangled animals were unhitched and the wagon was righted. + +The man was dead. + +In the wagon were the wife and six children, the oldest child a boy of +fifteen. All were safely caught in the canvas top and escaped unhurt. +We camped there--not knowing what else to do. + +We straightened the mangled form of the dead, and covered the body +with a blanket. + +That night the mother and the oldest boy sat by the campfire and +watched the long night away with their dead. + +The stars marched in solemn procession across the sky. + +The slow, crawling night passed. + +The first faint flush of dawn appeared in the East. + +I lay near the campfire, my head pillowed on a saddle, and heard the +widowed mother and her boy talking in low but earnest tones. + +"We must go back--we must go back to Illinois. It is the only thing to +do," I heard the mother moan. + +And the boy answered: "Mother, listen to what I say: We will go on--we +will go on. We know where father was going to take us--we know what he +was going to do. We will go on, and we will do what he intended to do, +and if possible we will do it better. We will go on!" + +That first burst of pink in the East had turned to gold. + +Great streaks of light stretched from horizon to zenith. + +I could see in the dim and hazy light the hobbled horses grazing +across the plain a quarter of a mile away. + +The boy of fifteen arose and put fuel on the fire. + +After breakfast I saw that boy get a spade, a shovel and a pick out of +the wagon. + +With help of others a grave was dug there on the prairie. + +The dead was rolled in a blanket and tied about with thongs, after the +fashion of the Indians. + +Lines were taken from a harness, and we lowered the body into the +grave. + +The grave was filled up by friendly hands working in nervous haste. + +I saw the boy pat down the mound with the back of a spade. + +I saw him carve with awkward, boyish hands the initials of his father, +the date of his birth and the day of his death. + +I saw him drive the slab down at the head of the grave. + +I saw him harness the four horses. + +I saw him help his little brothers into the canvas-covered wagon. + +I saw him help his mother climb the wheel as she took her place on the +seat. + +I saw him spring up beside her. + +I saw him gather up the lines in his brown, slim hands, and swing the +whip over the leaders, as he gave the shrill word of command and +turned the horses to the West. + +And the cavalcade moved forward to the West--always to the West. + +The boy had met calamity and disaster. He had not flinched. + +In a single day he had left boyhood behind and become a man. + +And the years that followed proved him genuine. + +What was it worked the change? Grief and responsibility, nobly met. + + + + ------------------------------------- + + The church has aureoled and sainted the men and + women who have fought the Cosmic Urge. To do nothing + and to be nothing was regarded as a virtue. + + + SIMEON STYLITES THE SYRIAN + + +The church has aureoled and sainted the men and women who have fought +the Cosmic Urge. To do nothing and to be nothing was regarded as a +virtue. + + + +As the traveler journeys through Southern Italy, Sicily and certain +parts of what was Ancient Greece, he will see broken arches, parts of +viaducts, and now and again a beautiful column pointing to the sky. +All about is the desert, or solitary pastures, and only this white +milestone marking the path of the centuries and telling in its own +silent, solemn and impressive way of a day that is dead. + +In the Fifth Century a monk called Simeon the Syrian, and known to us +as Simeon Stylites, having taken the vow of chastity, poverty and +obedience, began to fear greatly lest he might not be true to his +pledge. And that he might live absolutely beyond reproach, always in +public view, free from temptation, and free from the tongue of +scandal, he decided to live in the world, and still not be of it. To +this end he climbed to the top of a marble column, sixty feet high, +and there on the capstone he began to live a life beyond reproach. + +Simeon was then twenty-four years old. + +The environment was circumscribed, but there were outlook, sunshine, +ventilation--three good things. But beyond these the place had certain +disadvantages. The capstone was a little less than three feet square, +so Simeon could not lie down. He slept sitting, with his head bowed +between his knees, and, indeed, in this posture he passed most of his +time. Any recklessness in movement, and he would have slipped from his +perilous position and been dashed to death upon the stones beneath. + +As the sun arose he stood up, just for a few moments, and held out his +arms in greeting, blessing and in prayer. Three times during the day +did he thus stretch his cramped limbs, and pray with his face to the +East. At such times, those who stood near shared in his prayers, and +went away blessed and refreshed. + +How did Simeon get to the top of the column? + +Well, his companions at the monastery, a mile away, said he was +carried there in the night by a miraculous power; that he went to +sleep in his stone cell and awoke on the pillar. Other monks said that +Simeon had gone to pay his respects to a fair lady, and in wrath God +had caught him and placed him on high. The probabilities are, however, +Terese, as viewed by an unbeliever, that he shot a line over the +column with a bow and arrow and then drew up a rope ladder and +ascended with ease. + +However, in the morning the simple people of the scattered village saw +the man on the column. + +All day he stayed there. + +And the next day he was still there. + +The days passed, with the scorching heat of the midday sun, and the +cool winds of the night. + +Still Simeon kept his place. + +The rainy season came on. When the nights were cold and dark, Simeon +sat there with bowed head, and drew the folds of his single garment, a +black robe, over his face. + +Another season passed; the sun again grew warm, then hot, and the +sandstorms raged and blew, when the people below almost lost sight of +the man on the column. Some prophesied he would be blown off, but the +morning light revealed his form, naked from the waist up, standing +with hands outstretched to greet the rising sun. + +Once each day, as darkness gathered, a monk came with a basket +containing a bottle of goat's milk and a little loaf of black bread, +and Simeon dropped down a rope and drew up the basket. + +Simeon never spoke, for words are folly, and to the calls of saint or +sinner he made no reply. He lived in a perpetual attitude of +adoration. + +Did he suffer? During those first weeks he must have suffered terribly +and horribly. There was no respite nor rest from the hard surface of +the rock, and aching muscles could find no change from the cramped and +perilous position. If he fell, it was damnation for his soul--all were +agreed as to this. + +But man's body and mind accommodate themselves to almost any +condition. One thing at least, Simeon was free from economic +responsibilities, free from social cares and intrusion. Bores with sad +stories of unappreciated lives and fond hopes unrealized, never broke +in upon his peace. He was not pressed for time. No frivolous dame of +tarnished fame sought to share with him his perilous perch. The people +on a slow schedule, ten minutes late, never irritated his temper. His +correspondence never got in a heap. + +Simeon kept no track of the days, having no engagements to meet, nor +offices to perform, beyond the prayers at morn, midday and night. + +Memory died in him, the hurts became callouses, the world-pain died +out of his heart, and to cling became a habit. + +Language was lost in disuse. + +The food he ate was minimum in quantity; sensation ceased, and the +dry, hot winds reduced bodily tissue to a dessicated something called +a saint--loved, feared and reverenced for his fortitude. + +This pillar, which had once graced the portal of a pagan temple, again +became a place of pious pilgrimage, and people flocked to Simeon's +rock, so that they might be near when he stretched out his black, bony +hands to the East, and the spirit of Almighty God, for a space, +hovered close around. + +So much attention did the abnegation of Simeon attract that various +other pillars, marking the ruins of art and greatness gone, in that +vicinity, were crowned with pious monks. The thought of these monks +was to show how Christianity had triumphed over heathenism. Imitators +were numerous. About then the Bishops in assembly asked, "Is Simeon +sincere?" To test the matter of Simeon's pride, he was ordered to come +down from his retreat. + +As to his chastity, there was little doubt, his poverty was beyond +question, but how about obedience to his superiors? + +The order was shouted up to him in a Bishop's voice--he must let down +his rope, draw up a ladder, and descend. + +Straightway Simeon made preparation to obey. And then the Bishops +relented and cried, "We have changed our minds, and now order you to +remain!" + +Simeon lifted his hands in adoration and thankfulness and renewed his +lease. + +And so he lived on and on and on--he lived on the top of that pillar, +never once descending for thirty years. + +All his former companions grew aweary, and one by one died, and the +monastery bells tolled their requiem as they were laid to rest. Did +Simeon hear the bells and say, "Soon it will be my turn"? + +Probably not. His senses had flown, for what good were they! The young +monk who now at eventide brought the basket with the bottle of goat's +milk and the loaf of brown bread was born since Simeon had taken his +place on the pillar. + +"He has always been there," the people said, and crossed themselves +hurriedly. + +But one evening when the young monk came with his basket, no line was +dropped down from above. He waited and then called aloud, but all in +vain. + +When sunrise came, there sat the monk, his face between his knees, the +folds of his black robe drawn over his head. But he did not rise and +lift his hands in prayer. + +All day he sat there, motionless. + +The people watched in whispered silence. Would he arise at sundown and +pray, and with outstretched hands bless the assembled pilgrims? + +And as they watched, a vulture came sailing slowly through the blue +ether, and circled nearer and nearer; and off on the horizon was +another--and still another, circling nearer and ever nearer. + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + I would write across the sky in letters of light this + undisputed truth, proven by every annal of history, + that the only way to help yourself is through loyalty + to those who trust and employ you. + + + BATTLE OF THE LITTLE BIG HORN + + +It was in the Spring of Eighteen Hundred Seventy-six that the Sioux on +the Dakota Reservation became restless, and after various fruitless +efforts to restrain them, moved Westward in a body. + +This periodic migration was a habit and a tradition of the tribe. For +hundreds of years they had visited the buffalo country on an annual +hunt. + +Now the buffaloes were gone, save for a few scattered herds in the +mountains. The Indians did not fully realize this, although they +realized that as the Whites came in, the game went out. The Sioux were +hunters and horsemen by nature. They traveled and moved about with +great freedom. If restrained or interfered with they grew irritable +and then hostile. + +Now they were full of fight. The Whites had ruined the hunting-grounds; +besides that, white soldiers had fought them if they moved to their +old haunts, sacred for their use and bequeathed to them by their +ancestors. In dead of Winter, when the snows lay deep and they were in +their teepees, crouching around the scanty fire, soldiers had charged +on horseback through the villages, shooting into the teepees, killing +women and children. + +At the head of these soldiers was a white chief, whom they called +Yellow Hair. He was a smashing, dashing, fearless soldier who +understood the Indian ways and haunts, and then used this knowledge +for the undoing of the Red Men. + +Yellow Hair wanted to keep them in one little place all the time, and +desired that they should raise corn like cowardly Crows, when what +they wanted was to be free and hunt! + +They feared Yellow Hair--and hated him. + +Custer was a man of intelligence--nervous, energetic, proud. His +honesty and sincerity were beyond dispute. He was a natural Indian +fighter. He could pull his belt one hole tighter and go three whole +days without food. He could ride like the wind, or crawl in the grass, +and knew how to strike, quickly and unexpectedly, as the first streak +of dawn came into the East. Like Napoleon, he knew the value of time, +and, in fact, he had somewhat of the dash and daring, not to mention +the vanity, of the Corsican. His men believed in him and loved him, +for he marched them to victory, and with odds of five to one had won +again and again. + + ------------------------------------- + +But Custer had the defect of his qualities; and to use the Lincoln +phrase, sometimes took counsel of his ambition. + +He had fought in the Civil War in places where no prisoners were +taken, and where there was no commissary. And this wild, free life had +bred in him a habit of unrest--a chafing at discipline and all rules of +modern warfare. + +Results were the only things he cared for, and power was his Deity. + +When the Indians grew restless in the Spring of Seventy-six, Custer +was called to Washington for consultation. President Grant was not +satisfied with our Indian policy--he thought that in some ways the +Whites were the real savages. The Indians he considered as children, +not as criminals. + +Custer tried to tell him differently. Custer knew the bloodthirsty +character of the Sioux, their treachery and cunning--he showed scars by +way of proof! + +The authorities at Washington needed Custer. However, his view of the +case did not mean theirs. Custer believed in the mailed hand, and if +given the power he declared he would settle the Indian Question in +America once and forever. His confidence and assumption and what +Senator Dawes called swagger were not to their liking. Anyway, Custer +was attracting altogether too much attention--the people followed him +on Pennsylvania Avenue whenever he appeared. + +General Terry was chosen to head the expedition against the hostile +Sioux, and Custer was to go as second in command. + +Terry was older than Custer, but Custer had seen more service on the +plains. Custer demurred--threatened to resign--and wrote a note to the +President asking for a personal interview and requesting a review of +the situation. + +President Grant refused to see Custer, and reminded him that the first +duty of a soldier was obedience. + +Custer left Washington, glum and sullen--grieved. But he was a soldier, +and so he reported at Fort Lincoln, as ordered, to serve under a man +who knew less about Indian fighting than did he. + +The force of a thousand men embarked on six boats at Bismarck. There a +banquet was given in honor of Terry and Custer. "You will hear from us +by courier before July Fourth," said Custer. + +He was still moody and depressed, but declared his willingness to do +his duty. + +Terry did not like his attitude and told him so. Poor Custer was stung +by the reprimand. + +He was only a boy, thirty-seven years old, to be sure, but with the +whimsical, daring, ambitious and jealous quality of the center-rush. +Custer at times had his eye on the White House--why not! Had not Grant +been a soldier? + +Women worshiped Custer, and men who knew him, never doubted his +earnestness and honesty. He lacked humor. + +He was both sincere and serious. + +The expedition moved on up the tortuous Missouri, tying up at night to +avoid the treacherous sandbars that lay in wait. + +They had reached the Yellowstone River, and were getting into the +Indian Country. + +To lighten the boats, Terry divided his force into two parts. Custer +disembarked on the morning of the Twenty-fifth of June, with four +hundred forty-three men, besides a dozen who looked after the +pack-train. + +Scouts reported that the hostile Sioux were camped on the Little Big +Horn, seventy-five miles across the country. + +Terry gave Custer orders to march the seventy-five miles in +forty-eight hours, and attack the Indians at the head of their camp at +daylight on the morning of the Twenty-seventh. There was to be no +parley--panic was the thing desired, and when Custer had started the +savages on the run, Terry would attack them at the other end of their +village, and the two fleeing mobs of savages would be driven on each +other, and then they would cast down their arms and the trick would be +done. + +Next, to throw a cordon of soldiers around the camp and hold it would +be easy. + + ------------------------------------- + +Custer and his men rode away at about eight o'clock on the morning of +the Twenty-fifth. They were in high spirits, for the cramped quarters +on the transports made freedom doubly grateful. + +They disappeared across the mesa and through the gray-brown hills, and +soon only a cloud of dust marked their passage. + +After five miles had been turned off on a walk, Custer ordered a trot, +and then, where the ground was level, a canter. + +On they went. + +They pitched camp at four o'clock, having covered forty miles. The +horses were unsaddled and fed, and supper cooked and eaten. + +But sleep was not to be--these men shall sleep no more! + +The bugles sounded "Boots and Saddles." Before sunset they were again +on their way. + + ------------------------------------- + +By three o'clock on the morning of the Twenty-sixth, they had covered +more than seventy miles. + +They halted for coffee. + +The night, waiting for the dawn, was doubly dark. + +Fast-riding scouts had gone on ahead, and now reported the Indians +camped just over the ridge, four miles away. + +Custer divided his force into two parts. The Indians were camped along +the river for three miles. There were about two thousand of them, and +the women and children were with them. + +Reno with two hundred fifty men was ordered to swing around and attack +the village from the South. Custer with one hundred ninety-three men +would watch the charge, and when the valiant Reno had started the +panic and the Indians were in confusion, his force would then sweep +around and charge them from the other end of the village. + +This was Terry's plan of battle, only Custer was going to make the +capture without Terry's help. + +When Terry came up the following day, he would find the work all done +and neatly, too. Results are the only things that count, and victory +justifies itself. + +The battle would go down on the records as Custer's triumph! + +Reno took a two-mile detour, and just at peep of day, ere the sun had +gilded the tops of the cottonwoods, charged, with yells and rapid +firing, into the Indian village. Custer stood on the ridge, his men +mounted and impatient just below on the other side. + +He could distinguish Reno's soldiers as they charged into the +underbrush. Their shouts and the sound of firing filled his fighter's +heart. + +The Indians were in confusion--he could see them by the dim light, +stampeding. They were running in brownish masses right around the +front of the hill where he stood. He ordered the bugles to blow the +charge. + +The soldiers greeted the order with a yell--tired muscles, the +sleepless night, its seventy-five miles of hard riding, were +forgotten. The battle would be fought and won in less time than a man +takes to eat his breakfast. + +Down the slope swept Custer's men to meet the fleeing foe. + +But now the savages had ceased to flee. They lay in the grass and +fired. + +Several of Custer's horses fell. + +Three of his men threw up their hands, and dropped from their saddles, +limp like bags of oats, and their horses ran on alone. + +The gully below was full of Indians, and these sent a murderous fire +at Custer as he came. His horses swerved, but several ran right on and +disappeared, horse and rider in the sunken ditch, as did Napoleon's +men at Waterloo. + +The mad, headlong charge hesitated. The cottonwoods, the water and the +teepees were a hundred yards away. + +Custer glanced back, and a mile distant saw Reno's soldiers galloping +wildly up the steep slope of the hill. + +Reno's charge had failed--instead of riding straight down through the +length of the village and meeting Custer, he had gotten only fifty +rods, and then had been met by a steady fire from Indians who held +their ground. He wedged them back, but his horses, already overridden, +refused to go on, and the charging troops were simply carried out of +the woods into the open, and once there they took to the hills for +safety, leaving behind, dead, one-third of their force. + +Custer quickly realized the hopelessness of charging alone into a mass +of Indians, who were exultant and savage in the thought of victory. +Panic was not for them. + + ------------------------------------- + +They were armed with Springfield rifles, while the soldiers had only +short-range carbines. + +The bugles now ordered a retreat, and Custer's men rode back to the +top of the hill--with intent to join forces with Reno. + + ------------------------------------- + +Reno was hopelessly cut off. Determined Sioux filled the gully that +separated the two little bands of brave men. + +Custer, evidently, thought that Reno had simply withdrawn to re-form +his troop, and that any moment Reno would ride to his rescue. + +Custer decided to hold the hill. + +The Indians were shooting at him from long range, occasionally killing +a horse. + +He told off his fours and ordered the horses sent to the rear. + +The fours led their horses back toward where they had left their +packmules when they had stopped for coffee at three o'clock. + +But the fours had not gone half a mile when they were surrounded by a +mob of Indians that just closed in on them. Every man was killed--the +horses were galloped off by the women and children. + +Custer now realized that he was caught in a trap. The ridge where his +men lay face down was half a mile long, and not more than twenty feet +across at the top. The Indians were everywhere--in the gullies, in the +grass, in little scooped-out holes. The bullets whizzed above the +heads of Custer's men as they lay there, flattening their bodies in +the dust. + +The morning sun came out, dazzling and hot. + +It was only nine o'clock. + +The men were without food and without water. The Little Big Horn +danced over its rocky bed and shimmered in the golden light, only half +a mile away, and there in the cool, limpid stream they had been +confident they would now swim and fish, the battle over, while they +proudly held the disarmed Indians against General Terry's coming. + +But the fight had not been won, and death lay between them and water. +The only thing to do was to await Reno or Terry. Reno might come at +any time, and Terry would arrive without fail at tomorrow's dawn--he +had said so, and his word was the word of a soldier. + +Custer had blundered. + +The fight was lost. + +Now it was just a question of endurance. Noon came, and the buzzards +began to gather in the azure. + +The sun was blistering hot--there was not a tree, nor a bush, nor a +green blade of grass within reach. + +The men had ceased to joke and banter. The situation was serious. Some +tried to smoke, but their parching thirst was thus only +aggravated--they threw their pipes away. + +The Indians now kept up an occasional shooting. + +They were playing with the soldiers as a cat plays with a mouse. + +The Indian is a cautious fighter--he makes no sacrifices in order to +win. Now he had his prey secure. + +Soon the soldiers would run out of ammunition, and then one more day, +or two at least, and thirst and fatigue would reduce brave men into +old women, and the squaws could rush in and pound them on the head +with clubs. + +The afternoon dragged along its awful length. Time dwindled and +dawdled. + +At last the sun sank, a ball of fire in the West. + +The moon came out. + +Now and then a Sioux would creep up into shadowy view, but a shot from +a soldier would send him back into hiding. Down in the cottonwoods the +squaws made campfires and were holding a dance, singing their songs of +victory. + +Custer warned his men that sleep was death. This was their second +sleepless night, and the men were feverish with fatigue. Some babbled +in strange tongues, and talked with sisters and sweethearts and people +who were not there--reason was tottering. + +With Custer was an Indian boy, sixteen years old, "Curley the Crow." +Custer now at about midnight told Curley to strip himself and crawl +out among the Indians, and if possible, get out through the lines and +tell Terry of their position. Several of Custer's men had tried to +reach water, but none came back. + +Curley got through the lines--his boldness in mixing with the Indians +and his red skin saving him. He took a long way round and ran to tell +Terry the seriousness of the situation. + +Terry was advancing, but was hampered and harassed by Indians for +twenty miles. They fired at him from gullies, ridges, rocks, prairie-dog +mounds, and then retreated. He had to move with caution. Instead of +arriving at daylight as he expected, Terry was three hours behind. The +Indians surrounding Custer saw the dust from the advancing troop. + +They hesitated to charge Custer boldly as he lay on the hilltop, +entrenched by little ditches dug in the night with knives, tin cups +and bleeding fingers. + +It was easy to destroy Custer, but it meant a dead Sioux for every +white soldier. + +The Indians made sham charges to draw Custer's fire, and then +withdrew. + +They circled closer. The squaws came up with sticks and stones and +menaced wildly. + +Custer's fire grew less and less. He was running out of ammunition. + +Terry was only five miles away. + +The Indians closed in like a cloud around Custer and his few +survivors. + +It was a hand-to-hand fight--one against a hundred. + +In five minutes every man was dead, and the squaws were stripping the +mangled and bleeding forms. + +Already the main body of Indians was trailing across the plains toward +the mountains. + +Terry arrived, but it was too late. + +An hour later Reno limped in, famished, half of his men dead or +wounded, sick, undone. + +To follow the fleeing Indians was useless--the dead soldiers must be +decently buried, and the living succored. Terry himself had suffered +sore. + +The Indians were five thousand strong, not two. They had gathered up +all the other tribes for more than a hundred miles. Now they moved +North toward Canada. Terry tried to follow, but they held him off with +a rear-guard, like white veterans. The Indians escaped across the +border. + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + Anybody can order, but to serve with grace, tact and + effectiveness is a fine art. + + + SAM + + +In San Francisco lived a lawyer--age, sixty--rich in money, rich in +intellect, a business man with many interests. + +Now, this lawyer was a bachelor, and lived in apartments with his +Chinese servant "Sam." + +Sam and his master had been together for fifteen years. + +The servant knew the wants of his employer as though he were his other +self. No orders were necessary. + +If there was to be a company--one guest or a hundred--Sam was told the +number, that was all, and everything was provided. + +This servant was cook, valet, watchman, friend. + +No stray, unwished-for visitor ever got to the master to rob him of +his rest when he was at home. + +If extra help was wanted, Sam secured it; he bought what was needed; +and when the lawyer awakened in the morning, it was to the singing of +a tiny music-box with a clock attachment set for seven o'clock. + +The bath was ready; a clean shirt was there on the dresser, with studs +and buttons in place; collar and scarf were near; the suit of clothes +desired hung over a chair; the right pair of shoes, polished like a +mirror, was at hand, and on the mantel was a half-blown rose, with the +dew still upon it, for a boutonniere. + +Downstairs, the breakfast, hot and savory, waited. + +When the good man was ready to go to the office, silent as a shadow +stood Sam in the hallway, with overcoat, hat and cane in hand. + +When the weather was threatening, an umbrella was substituted for the +cane. The door was opened, and the master departed. + +When he returned at nightfall, on his approach the door swung wide. + +Sam never took a vacation; he seemed not to either eat or sleep. + +He was always near when needed; he disappeared when he should. + +He knew nothing and he knew everything. + +For weeks scarcely a word might pass between these men, they +understood each other so well. + +The lawyer grew to have a great affection for his servant. + +He paid him a hundred dollars a month, and tried to devise other ways +to show his gratitude; but Sam wanted nothing, not even thanks. + +All he desired was the privilege to serve. + +But one morning as Sam poured his master's coffee, he said quietly, +without a shade of emotion on his yellow face, "Next week I leave +you." + +The lawyer smiled. + +"Next week I leave you," repeated the Chinese; "I hire for you better +man." + +The lawyer set down his cup of coffee. He looked at the white-robed +servant. He felt the man was in earnest. + +"So you are going to leave me--I do not pay you enough, eh? That Doctor +Sanders who was here--he knows what a treasure you are. Don't be a +fool, Sam; I'll make it a hundred and fifty a month--say no more." + +"Next week I leave you--I go to China," said the servant impassively. + +"Oh, I see! You are going back for a wife? All right, bring her +here--you will return in two months? I do not object; bring your wife +here--there is work for two to keep this place in order. The place is +lonely, anyway. I'll see the Collector of the Port, myself, and +arrange your passage-papers." + +"I go to China next week: I need no papers--I never come back," said +the man with exasperating calmness and persistence. + +"By God, you shall not go!" said the lawyer. + +"By God, I will!" answered the heathen. + +It was the first time in their experience together that the servant +had used such language, or such a tone, toward his master. + +The lawyer pushed his chair back, and after an instant said, quietly, +"Sam, you must forgive me; I spoke quickly. I do not own you--but tell +me, what have I done--why do you leave me this way, you know I need +you!" + +"I will not tell you why I go--you laugh." + +"No, I shall not laugh." + +"You will." + +"I say, I will not." + +"Very well, I go to China to die!" + +"Nonsense! You can die here. Haven't I agreed to send your body back +if you die before I do?" + +"I die in four weeks, two days!" + +"What!" + +"My brother, he in prison. He twenty-six, I fifty. He have wife and +baby. In China they accept any man same family to die. I go to China, +give my money to my brother--he live, I die!" + +The next day a new Chinaman appeared as servant in the lawyer's +household. In a week this servant knew everything, and nothing, just +like Sam. + +And Sam disappeared, without saying good-by. + +He went to China and was beheaded, four weeks and two days from the +day he broke the news of his intent to go. + +His brother was set free. + +And the lawyer's household goes along about as usual, save when the +master calls for "Sam," when he should say, "Charlie." + +At such times there comes a kind of clutch at his heart, but he says +nothing. + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + When power and beauty meet, the world would do well + to take to its cyclone-cellar. + + + CLEOPATRA AND CSAR + + +The sole surviving daughter of the great King Ptolemy of Egypt, +Cleopatra was seventeen years old when her father died. + +By his will the King made her joint heir to the throne with her +brother Ptolemy, several years her junior. And according to the custom +not unusual among royalty at that time, it was provided that Ptolemy +should become the husband of Cleopatra. + +She was a woman--her brother a child. + +She had intellect, ambition, talent. She knew the history of her own +country, and that of Assyria, Greece and Rome; and all the written +languages of the world were to her familiar. She had been educated by +the philosophers, who had brought from Greece the science of +Pythagoras and Plato. Her companions had been men--not women, or +nurses, or pious, pedantic priests. + +Through the veins of her young body pulsed and leaped life, plus. + +She abhorred the thought of an alliance with her weak-chinned brother; +and the ministers of State, who suggested another husband as a +compromise, were dismissed with a look. + +They said she was intractable, contemptuous, unreasonable, and was +scheming for the sole possession of the throne. + +She was not to be diverted even by ardent courtiers who were sent to +her, and who lay in wait ready with amorous sighs--she scorned them +all. + +Yet she was a woman still, and in her dreams she saw the coming +prince. + +She was banished from Alexandria. + +A few friends followed her, and an army was formed to force from the +enemy her rights. + +But other things were happening--a Roman army came leisurely drifting +in with the tide and disembarked at Alexandria. The Great Csar +himself was in command--a mere holiday, he said. He had intended to +join the land forces of Mark Antony and help crush the rebellious +Pompey, but Antony had done the trick alone; and only a few days +before, word had come that Pompey was dead. + +Csar knew that civil war was on in Alexandria, and being near he +sailed slowly in, sending messengers on ahead warning both sides to +lay down their arms. + +With him was the far-famed invincible Tenth Legion that had ravished +Gaul. Csar wanted to rest his men and, incidentally, to reward them. +They took possession of the city without a blow. + +Cleopatra's troops laid down their arms, but Ptolemy's refused. They +were simply chased beyond the walls, and their punishment for the time +being was deferred. + +Csar took possession of the palace of the King, and his soldiers +accommodated themselves in the houses, public buildings, and temples +as best they could. + +Cleopatra asked for a personal interview, in order to present her +cause. + +Csar declined to meet her--he understood the trouble--many such cases +he had seen. Claimants for thrones were not new to him. Where two +parties quarreled, both are right--or wrong--it really mattered little. + +It is absurd to quarrel--still more foolish to fight. + +Csar was a man of peace, and to keep the peace he would appoint one +of his generals governor, and make Egypt a Roman colony. + +In the meantime he would rest a week or two, with the kind permission +of the Alexandrians, and write upon his "Commentaries"--no, he would +not see either Cleopatra or Ptolemy--any desired information they would +get through his trusted emissaries. + +In the service of Cleopatra was a Sicilian slave who had been her +personal servant since she was a little girl. This man's name was +Appolidorus. He was a man of giant stature and imposing mien. Ten +years before his tongue had been torn out as a token that as he was to +attend a queen he should tell no secrets. + +Appolidorus had but one thought in life, and that was to defend his +gracious queen. He slept at the door of Cleopatra's tent, a naked +sword at his side, held in his clenched and brawny hand. + +And now behold at dusk of day the grim and silent Appolidorus, +carrying upon his giant shoulders a large and curious rug, rolled up +and tied 'round at each end with ropes. + +He approaches the palace of the King, and at the guarded gate hands a +note to the officer in charge. This note gives information to the +effect that a certain patrician citizen of Alexandria, being glad that +the gracious Csar had deigned to visit Egypt, sends him the richest +rug that can be woven--done, in fact, by his wife and daughters and +held against this day, awaiting Rome's greatest son. + +The officer reads the note, and orders a soldier to accept the gift +and carry it within--presents were constantly arriving. A sign from the +dumb giant makes the soldier stand back--the present is for Csar and +can be delivered only in person. "Lead and I will follow," were the +words done in stern pantomime. The officer laughs, sends in the note, +and the messenger soon returning, signifies that the present is +acceptable and the slave bearing it shall be shown in. Appolidorus +shifts his burden to the other shoulder, and follows the soldier +through the gate, up the marble steps, along the splendid hallway, +lighted by flaring torches and lined with reclining Roman soldiers. + +At a door they pause an instant, there is a whispered word--they enter. + +The room is furnished as becomes the room that is the private library +of the King of Egypt. In one corner, seated at the table, pen in hand, +sits a man of middle age, pale, clean-shaven, with hair close-cropped. +His dress is not that of a soldier--it is the flowing white robe of a +Roman Priest. Only one servant attends this man, a secretary, seated +near, who rises and explains that the present is acceptable and shall +be deposited on the floor. + +The pale man at the table looks up, smiles a tired smile and murmurs +in a perfunctory way his thanks. + +Appolidorus having laid his burden on the floor, kneels to untie the +ropes. The secretary explains that he need not trouble, pray bear +thanks and again thanks to his master--he need not tarry! + +The dumb man on his knees neither hears nor heeds. The rug is +unrolled. + +From out the roll a woman leaps lightly to her feet--a beautiful young +woman of twenty. + +She stands there, poised, defiant, gazing at the pale-faced man seated +at the table. + +He is not surprised--he never was. One might have supposed he received +all his visitors in this manner. + +"Well?" he says in a quiet way, a half-smile parting his thin lips. + +The breast of the woman heaves with tumultuous emotion--just an +instant. She speaks, and there is no tremor in her tones. Her voice is +low, smooth and scarcely audible: "I am Cleopatra." + +The man at the desk lays down his pen, leans back and gently nods his +head, as much as to say, indulgently, "Yes, my child, I hear--go on!" + +"I am Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, and I would speak with thee, alone." + +She pauses; then raising one jeweled arm motions to Appolidorus that +he shall withdraw. + +With a similar motion, the man at the desk signifies the same to his +astonished secretary. + + ------------------------------------- + +Appolidorus went down the long hallway, down the stone steps and +waited at the outer gate amid the throng of soldiers. They questioned +him, gibed him, railed at him, but they got no word in reply. + +He waited--he waited an hour, two--and then came a messenger with a note +written on a slip of parchment. The words ran thus: "Well-beloved +'Dorus: Veni, vidi, vici! Go fetch my maids; also, all of our personal +belongings." + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + As the cities are all only two days from famine, so + is man's life constantly but a step from dissolution. + + + A SPECIAL OCCASION + + +Once on a day, I spoke at the Athenum, New Orleans, for the Young +Men's Hebrew Association. + +When they had asked my fee I answered, "One Hundred Fifty Dollars." +The reply was, "We will pay you Two Hundred--it is to be a special +occasion." + +A carriage was sent to my hotel for me. The Jews may be close traders, +but when it comes to social functions, they know what to do. The Jew +is the most generous man in the world, even if he can be at times cent +per cent. + +As I approached the Athenum I thought, "What a beautiful building!" +It was stone and brick--solid, subdued, complete and substantial. The +lower rooms were used for the Hebrew Club. Upstairs stretched the +splendid hall, as I could tell from the brilliantly lighted windows. + +Inside, I noticed that the stairways were carpeted with Brussels. +Glancing through the wide doorways, I beheld an audience of more than +two thousand people. The great chandeliers sent out a dazzling glory +from their crystal and gold. At the sides, rich tapestries and +hangings of velvet covered the windows. + +"A beautiful building," I said to my old-time friend, Maurice J. Pass, +the Secretary of the Club. + +He smiled in satisfaction and replied, "Well, we seldom let things go +by default--you have tonight as fine an audience as ever assembled in +New Orleans." + +We passed down a side hallway and under the stage, preparatory to +going on the platform. In this room below the stage a single electric +light shone. The place was dark and dingy, in singular contrast to the +beauty, light, cleanliness and order just beyond. In the corner were +tables piled high--evidently used for banquets--broken furniture and +discarded boxes. + +Several smart young men in full dress sat on the tables smoking +cigarettes. One young man said in explanation, "We were crowded +out--had to give up our seats to ladies--so we are going to sit on the +stage." + +The soft blue smoke from the cigarettes seemed to hug close about the +lonely electric light. + +I saw the smoke and thought that beside the odor of tobacco I detected +the smell of smoldering pine. + +"Isn't it a trifle smoky here?" I said to the young man nearest me. + +He laughed at this remark and handed me a cigarette. + +The Secretary of the Club and I went up the narrow stairs to the stage. +As we stood there behind the curtain I looked at the pleasant-faced +man. "You didn't detect the odor of burning wood down there, did you?" +I asked. + +"No; but you see the windows are open, and there are bonfires outside, +I suppose." + +"I am a fool," I thought; "and James Whitcomb Riley was right when he +said that the speaker who is about to make his bow to an audience is +always so keyed up that at the moment he is incapable of sane +thinking." + +I excused myself and walked over to an open window at the back of the +stage and looked down. + +It must have been forty feet to the stony street beneath. + +Then I went to a side window and threw up the sash. This window looked +out on a roof ten or twelve feet below. I got a broken broom that +stood in the corner and propped the window open. + +The thought of fire was upon me and I was inwardly planning what I +would do in case of a stampede. I am always thinking about what I +would do should this or that happen. Nothing can surprise me--not even +death. If any of my best helpers should leave me, I have it all +planned exactly whom I will put in their places. I have it arranged +who will take my own place--my will is made and my body is to be +cremated. + +"Cremated? Not tonight!" I said to myself, as I placed the broom under +the sash. "If a panic occurs, the people will go out of the doors and +I will stick to the stage until my coat-tails singe. I'll say that the +fire is in an adjoining building; then I'll smilingly bow myself off +the stage and gently drop out of that window." + +"All ready when you are," said Mr. Fass. + +I passed out on the stage before that vast sea of faces. + +It was a glorious sight. There was a row of military men from the +French warship in the harbor, down in front; priests, and ladies with +sparkling diamonds; a bishop wearing a purple vestment under his black +gown sat to one side; a stout lady in decollete waved a feather fan in +rhythmic, mystic motion, far back to the left. + +The audience applauded encouragingly, I wished I was back in that dear +East Aurora. But I began. + +In a few minutes my heart ceased to thump and I knew we were off. + +I spoke for two hours, and I spoke well. + +I did not push the lecture in front of me, nor did I drag it behind. I +got the chancery twist on it and carried it off big, as I do about one +time in ten. I finished in a whirlwind of applause, with the bishop +crying "Bravo!" and the fat lady with the fifty-dollar feather fan +beaming approbation. + +Fass stood in the wings to congratulate me. + + ------------------------------------- + +I shook hands with a hundred. The house slowly emptied. I bade the +genial Fass good-by. He took my hand in both of his. "You will come +back! You must come back!" he said. + +He walked with me, bareheaded, to my carriage. + +He again pressed my hand. + +I rode to my hotel and went to bed, and to sleep. + +I was awakened by a bright glare of light that filled my room. + +I got up and looked at my watch. It was just midnight. + +Off to the East I saw red tongues of angry flame streaking the sky +from horizon to zenith. + +"It is the Jewish Club, all right," I said. + +I pulled down the blind and went back to bed. + +When I went down to breakfast at seven o'clock in the morning, I heard +the newsboys in the streets crying, "All about the fire!" I bought a +paper and read the headline, "Hubbard's Lecture Hot Stuff!" + +I walked out Saint Charles Avenue and viewed the smoldering ruins +where only a few hours before I had spoken to more than two thousand +people--where the bishop in purple vestment had cried "Bravo!" and the +stout lady with feathered fan had beamed approval. + +"Was anybody hurt?" I asked one of the policemen on guard. + +"Only one man killed--Fass, the Secretary; I believe he lies somewhere +over there to the left, beneath that toppled wall." + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + The person who reasons from a false premise is + always funny--to other folks. + + + UNCLE JOE AND AUNT MELINDA + + +The opinion prevails all through the truly rural districts that the +big cities are for the most part given over to Confidence Men. + +And the strange part is that the opinion is correct. + +But it should not be assumed that all the people in, say, Buffalo, are +moral derelicts--there are many visitors there, most of the time, from +other sections. + +And while at all times one should exercise caution, yet to assume that +the party who is "fresh" is intent on high crimes and misdemeanors may +be a rather hasty and unjust generalization. + +For instance, there are Uncle Joe and Aunt Melinda, who live eight +miles back from East Aurora, at Wales Hollow. They had been married +for forty-seven years, and had never taken a wedding-journey. They +decided to go to Buffalo and spend two days at a hotel regardless of +expense. + +Much had been told them about the Confidence Men who hang around the +railroad-station, and they were prepared. + +They arrived at East Aurora, where they were to take the train, an +hour ahead of time. The Jerkwater came in and they were duly seated, +when all at once Uncle Joe rushed for the door, jumped off and made +for the waiting-room looking for his carpetbag. It was on the train +all right, but he just forgot, and feeling sure he had left it in the +station made the grand skirmish as aforesaid. + +The result was that the train went off and left your Uncle Joseph. + +Aunt Melinda was much exercised, but the train-hands pacified her by +assurances that her husband would follow on the next train, and she +should simply wait for him in the depot at Buffalo. + +Now the Flyer was right behind the Jerkwater, and Uncle Joe took the +Flyer and got to Buffalo first. When the Jerkwater came in, Uncle Joe +was on the platform waiting for Aunt Melinda. + +As she disembarked he approached her. + +She shied and passed on. + +He persisted in his attentions. + +Then it was that she shook her umbrella at him and bade him hike. The +eternally feminine in her nature prompted self-preservation. She +banked on her reason--woman's reason--not her intuition. She had started +first--her husband could only come on a later train. + +"Go 'way and leave me alone," she shouted in shrill falsetto. "You +have got yourself up to look like my Joe--and that idiotic grin on your +homely face is just like my Joe, but no city sharper can fool me, and +if you don't go right along I'll call for the perlice!" + +She called for the police, and Uncle Joe had to show a strawberry-mark +to prove his identity, before he received recognition. + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + To be your brother's keeper is beautiful if you do + not cease to be his friend. + + + BILLY AND THE BOOK + + +One day last Winter in New York I attended a police court on a side +street, just off lower Broadway. I was waiting to see my old friend +Rosenfeld in the Equitable Life Building, but as his office didn't +open up until nine o'clock, I put in my time at the police court. + +There was the usual assortment of drunks, petty thieves--male and +female, black, white and coffee-colored--disorderlies, vagabonds and a +man in full-dress suit and a wide expanse of dull ecru shirt-bosom. + +The place was stuffy, foul-smelling, and reeked with a stale +combination of tobacco and beer and patchouli, and tears, curses, fear +and promises unkept. + +The Judge turned things off, but without haste. He showed more +patience and consideration than one usually sees on the bench. His +judgments seemed to be gentle and just. + +The courtroom was clearing, and I started to go. + + ------------------------------------- + +As I was passing down the icy steps a piping child's voice called to +me, "Mister, please give me a lift!" + +There at the foot of the steps, standing in the snow, was a slender +slip of a girl, yellow and earnest, say ten years old, with a shawl +pinned over her head. She held in her hand a rope, and this rope was +tied to a hand-sled. On this sled sat a little boy, shivering, dumpy +and depressed, his bare red hands clutching the seat. + +"Mister, I say, please give me a lift!" + +"Sure!" I said. + +It was a funny sight. + +This girl seemed absolutely unconscious of herself. She was not at all +abashed, and very much in earnest about something. + +Evidently she had watched the people coming out and had waited until +one appeared that she thought safe to call on for help. + +"Of course I'll give you a lift--what is it you want me to do?" + +"I've got to go inside and see the Judge. It's about my brudder here. +He is six, goin' on seven, and they sent him home from school 'cause +they said he wasn't old enough. I'm going to have that teacher +'rested. I've got the Bible here that says he's six years old. If +you'll carry the book I'll bring Billy and the sled!" + +"Where is the Bible?" I asked. + +"Billy's settin' on it." + +It was a big, black, greasy Family Bible, evidently a relic of better +days. It had probably been hidden under the bed for safety. + +The girl grappled the sled with one hand, and with the other Billy's +little red fist. + +I followed, carrying the big, black, greasy Family Bible. + +Evidently this girl had been here before. She walked around the end of +the judicial bar, and laid down the sled. Then she took the Bible out +of my hands. It was about all she could do to lift it. + +In a shrill, piping voice, full of business, and very much in earnest, +she addressed the Judge: "I say, Mister Judge, they sent my brudder +Billy away from school, they did. He's six, goin' on seven, and I want +that teacher 'rested and brought here so you can tell her to let Billy +go to school. Here is our Family Bible--you can see for yourself how +old Billy is!" + +The Judge adjusted his glasses, stared, and exclaimed, "God bless my +soul!" + +Then he called a big, blue-coated officer over and said: "Mike, you go +with this little girl and her brother, and tell that teacher, if +possible, to allow the boy to go to school; that I say he is old +enough. You understand! If you do not succeed, come back and tell me +why." + +The officer smiled and saluted. + +The big policeman took the little boy in his arms. The girl carried +the sled, and I followed with the Family Bible. + +The officer looked at me--"Newspaper man, I s'pose?" + +"Yes," I said. + +"What paper?" + +"The American." + +"It's the best ever." + +"I think so--possibly with a few exceptions." + +"She's the queerest lot yet, is this kid," and the big bluecoat jerked +his thumb toward the girl. + +I suggested that we go to the restaurant across the way and get a bite +of something to eat. + +"I'm not hungry," said the officer, "but the youngsters look as if +they hadn't et since day before yesterday." + +We lined up at the counter. + +The officer drank two cups of coffee and ate a ham sandwich, two +hard-boiled eggs, a plate of cakes and a piece of pie. + +The girl and her brother each had a plate of cakes, a piece of pie and +a glass of milk. + +"What's yours?" asked the waiter. + +"Same," said I. + +As I did not care for the cakes, the officer cleaned the plate for me. + +I didn't have time to go to the school, but the officer assured me +that he would "fix it," and he winked knowingly, as if he had looked +after such things before. He was kind, but determined, and I had +confidence he would see that the little boy was duly admitted. + +I started up the street alone. + +They went the other way. The officer carried the little boy. + +The girl with the shawl over her head followed, pulling the hand-sled, +and on the sled rested the big, black Family Bible. I lost sight of +them as they turned the corner. + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + An act is only a crystallized thought. + + + JOHN THE BAPTIST AND SALOME + + +John the Baptist, the strong, fine youth, came up out of the +wilderness crying in the streets of Jerusalem, "Repent ye! Repent ye!" + +Salome heard the call and from her window looked with half- closed, +catlike eyes upon the semi-naked, young fanatic. + +She smiled, did this idle creature of luxury, as she lay there amid +the cushions on her couch, and gazed through the casement upon the +preacher in the street. + +Suddenly a thought came to her. + +She arose on her elbow--she called her slaves. + +They clothed her in a gaudy gown, dressed her hair, and led her forth. + +Salome followed the wild, weird, religious enthusiast. + +She pushed through the crowd and placed herself near the man, so the +smell of her body would reach his nostrils. + +His eyes ranged the swelling lines of her body. + +Their eyes met. + +She half-smiled and gave him that look which had snared the soul of +many another. + +But he only gazed at her with passionless, judging intensity and +repeated his cry, "Repent ye. Repent ye, for the day is at hand!" + +Her reply, uttered soft and low, was this: "I would kiss thy lips!" + +He moved away and she reached to seize his garment, repeating, "I +would kiss thy lips--I would kiss thy lips!" + +He turned aside, and forgot her, as he continued his warning cry, and +went his way. + +The next day she waylaid the youth again; as he came near she suddenly +and softly stepped forth and said in that same low, purring voice, "I +would kiss thy lips!" + +He repulsed her with scorn. + +She threw her arms about him and sought to draw his head down near +hers. + +He pushed her from him with sinewy hands, sprang as from a pestilence, +and was lost in the pressing throng. + +That night she danced before Herod Antipas, and when the promise was +recalled that she should have anything she wished, she named the head +of the only man who had ever turned away from her. "The head of John +the Baptist on a charger!" + +In an hour the wish was gratified. + +Two eunuchs stood before Salome with a silver tray bearing its +fearsome burden. + +The woman smiled--a smile of triumph, as she stepped forth with +tinkling feet. + +A look of pride came over the painted face. + +Her jeweled fingers reached into the blood-matted hair. She lifted the +head aloft, and the bracelets on her brown, bare arms fell to her +shoulders, making strange music. Her face pressed the face of the +dead. + +In exultation she exclaimed, "I have kissed thy lips!" + + + + ------------------------------------- + + He who influences the thought of his time influences + the thought of all the time that follows. And he has + made his impress upon eternity. + + + THE MASTER + + +Giovanni Bellini was his name. + +Yet when people who loved beautiful pictures spoke of "Gian," every +one knew who was meant; but to those who worked at art he was "The +Master." He was two inches under six feet in height, strong and +muscular. In spite of his seventy summers his carriage was erect, and +there was a jaunty suppleness about his gait that made him seem much +younger. In fact, no one would have believed he had lived over his +threescore and ten, were it not for the iron-gray hair that fluffed +out all around under the close-fitting black cap, and the bronzed +complexion--sun-kissed by wind and by weather--which formed a trinity of +opposites that made people turn and stare. + +Queer stories used to be told about him. He was a skilful gondolier, +and it was the daily row back and forth from the Lido that gave him +that face of bronze. Folks said he ate no meat and drank no wine, and +that his food was simply ripe figs in the season, with coarse rye +bread and nuts. + +Then there was that funny old hunchback, a hundred years old at least, +and stone-deaf, who took care of the gondola, spending the whole day, +waiting for his master, washing the trim, graceful, blue-black boat, +arranging the awning with the white cords and tassels, and polishing +the little brass lions at the sides. People tried to question the old +hunchback, but he gave no secrets away. The master always stood up +behind and rowed; while down on the cushions rode the hunchback, the +guest of honor. + +There stood the master erect, plying the oar, his long black robe +tucked up under the dark blue sash that exactly matched the color of +the gondola. The man's motto might have been, "Ich Dien," or that +passage of Scripture, "He that is greatest among you shall be your +servant." Suspended around his neck by a slender chain was a bronze +medal, presented by vote of the Signoria when the great picture of +"The Transfiguration" was unveiled. If this medal had been a crucifix, +and you had met the wearer in San Marco, one glance at the finely +chiseled features, the black cap and the flowing robe and you would +have said at once the man was a priest, Vicar-General of some +important diocese. But seeing him standing erect on the stern of a +gondola, the wind caressing the dark gray hair, you would have been +perplexed until your gondolier explained in serious undertone that you +had just passed "the greatest Painter in all Venice, Gian, the +Master." + +Then, if you showed curiosity and wanted to know further, the +gondolier would have told you more about this strange man. + +The canals of Venice are the highways, and the gondoliers are like +'bus-drivers in Piccadilly--they know everybody and are in close touch +with all the Secrets of State. When you get to the Gindecca and tie up +for lunch, over a bottle of Chianti, your gondolier will tell you +this: + +The hunchback there in the gondola, rowed by the Master, is the Devil, +who has taken that form just to be with and guard the greatest artist +the world has ever seen. Yes, Signor, that clean-faced man with his +frank, wide-open, brown eyes is in league with the Evil One. He is the +man who took young Tiziano from Cadore into his shop, right out of a +glass-factory, and made him a great artist, getting him commissions +and introducing him everywhere! And how about the divine Giorgione who +called him father? Oho! + +And who is Giorgione? The son of some unknown peasant woman. And if +Bellini wanted to adopt him, treat him as his son indeed, kissing him +on the cheek when he came back just from a day's visit to Mestre, +whose business was it! Oho! + +Beside that, his name isn't Giorgione--it is Giorgio Barbarelli. And +didn't this Giorgio Barbarelli, and Tiziano from Cadore, and Espero +Carbonne, and that Gustavo from Nuremberg, and the others paint most +of Gian's pictures? Surely they did. The old man simply washes in the +backgrounds and the boys do the work. About all old Gian does is to +sign the picture, sell it and pocket the proceeds. Carpaccio helps +him, too--Carpaccio who painted the loveliest little angel sitting +cross-legged playing the biggest mandolin you ever saw in your life. + +That is genius, you know, the ability to get some one else to do the +work, and then capture the ducats and the honors for yourself. Of +course, Gian knows how to lure the boys on--something has to be done in +order to hold them. Gian buys a picture from them now and then; his +studio is full of their work--better than he can do. Oh, he knows a +good thing when he sees it. These pictures will be valuable some day, +and he gets them at his own price. It was Antonello of Messina who +introduced oil-painting into Venice. Before that they mixed their +paints with water, milk or wine. But when Antonello came along with +his dark, lustrous pictures, he set all artistic Venice astir. Gian +Bellini discovered the secret, they say, by feigning to be a gentleman +and going to the newcomer and sitting for his picture. He it was who +discovered that Antonello mixed his colors with oil. Oho! + +Of course, not all of the pictures in his studio are painted by the +boys: some are painted by that old Dutchman what's-his-name--oh, yes, +Durer, Alberto Durer of Nuremberg. Two Nuremberg painters were in that +very gondola last week just where you sit--they are here in Venice now, +taking lessons from Gian, they said. Gian was up there to Nuremberg +and lived a month with Durer--they worked together, drank beer +together, I suppose, and caroused. Gian is very strict about what he +does in Venice, but you can never tell what a man will do when he is +away from home. The Germans are a roystering lot--but they do say they +can paint. Me? I have never been up there--and do not want to go, +either--there are no canals there. To be sure, they print books in +Nuremberg. It was up there somewhere that they invented type, a lazy +scheme to do away with writing. They are a thrifty lot--those +Germans--they give me my fare and a penny more, just a single penny, +and no matter how much I have talked and pointed out the wonderful +sights, and imparted useful information, known to me alone--only one +penny extra--think of it! + +Yes, printing was first done at Mayence by a German, Gutenberg, about +sixty years ago. One of Gutenberg's workmen went up to Nuremberg and +taught others how to design and cast type. This man, Alberto Durer, +helped them, designing the initials and making their title-pages by +cutting the design on a wood block, then covering this block with ink, +laying a sheet of paper upon it, placing it in a press, and then when +the paper is lifted off it looks exactly like the original drawing. In +fact, most people couldn't tell the difference, and here you can print +thousands of them from the one block. + +Bellini makes drawings for title-pages and initials for Aldus and +Nicholas Jenson. Venice is the greatest printing place in the world, +and yet the business began here only thirty years ago. The first book +printed here was in Fourteen Hundred Sixty-nine, by John of Speyer. +There are two hundred licensed printing-presses here, and it takes +usually four men to a press--two to set the type and get things ready, +and two to run the press. This does not count, of course, the men who +write the books, and those who make the type and cut the blocks from +which they print the pictures for the illustrations. At first, you +know, the books they printed in Venice had no title-pages, initials or +illustrations. My father was a printer and he remembers when the first +large initials were printed--before that the spaces were left blank and +the books were sent out to the monasteries to be completed by hand. + +Gian and Gentile had a good deal to do about cutting the first blocks +for initials--they got the idea, I think, from Nuremberg. And now there +are Dutchmen down here from Amsterdam learning how to print books and +paint pictures. Several of them are in Gian's studio, I hear--every +once in a while I get them for a trip to the Lido or to Murano. + +Gentile Bellini is his brother and looks very much like him. The Grand +Turk at Constantinople came here once and saw Gian Bellini at work in +the Great Hall. He had never seen a good picture before and was +amazed. He wanted the Senate to sell Gian to him, thinking he was a +slave. They humored the Pagan by hiring Gentile Bellini to go instead, +loaning him out for two years, so to speak. + +Gentile went, and the Sultan, who never allowed any one to stand +before him, all having to grovel in the dirt, treated Gentile as an +equal. Gentile even taught the old rogue to draw a little, and they +say the painter had a key to every room in the palace, and was treated +like a prince. + +Well, they got along all right, until one day Gentile drew the picture +of the head of John the Baptist on a charger. + +"A man's head doesn't look like that when it is cut off," said the +Grand Turk contemptuously. Gentile had forgotten that the Turk was on +familiar ground. + +"Perhaps the Light of the Sun knows more about painting than I do!" +said Gentile, as he kept right on at his work. + +"I may not know much about painting, but I'm no fool in some other +things I might name," was the reply. + +The Sultan clapped his hands three times: two slaves appeared from +opposite doors. One was a little ahead of the other, and as this one +approached, the Sultan with a single swing of the snickersnee snipped +off his head. This teaches us that obedience to our superiors is its +own reward. But the lesson was wholly lost on Gentile Bellini, for he +did not even remain to examine the severed head for art's sake. The +thought that it might be his turn next was supreme, and he leaped +through a window, taking the sash with him. Making his way to the +docks he found a sailing vessel loading with fruit, bound for Venice. +A small purse of gold made the matter easy: the captain of the boat +secreted him, and in four days he was safely back in Saint Mark's +giving thanks to God for his deliverance. + +No, I didn't say Gian was a rogue--I only told you what others say. I +am only a poor gondolier--why should I trouble myself about what great +folks do? I simply tell you what I hear--it may be so, and it may not. +God knows! There is that Pascale Salvini--he has a rival studio--and +when that Genoese, Christoforo Colombo, was here and made his +stopping-place at Bellini's studio, Pascale told every one that +Colombo was a lunatic, and Bellini another, for encouraging him to +show his foolish maps and charts. Now, they do say that Colombo has +discovered a new world, and Italians are feeling troubled in +conscience because they did not fit him out with ships instead of +forcing him to go to Spain. + +No, I didn't say Bellini was a hypocrite--Pascale's pupils say so, and +once they followed him over to Murano--three barca-loads and my gondola +beside. You see it was like this: Twice a week just after sundown, we +used to see Gian Bellini untie his boat from the landing there behind +the Doge's palace, turn the prow, and beat out for Murano, with no +companion but that deaf old caretaker. Twice a week, Tuesdays and +Fridays--always at just the same hour, regardless of the weather--we +would see the old hunchback light the lamps, and in a few moments the +Master would appear, tuck up his black robe, step into the boat, take +the oar and away they would go. It was always to Murano, and always to +the same landing--one of our gondoliers had followed them several +times, just out of curiosity. + +Finally it came to the ears of Pascale that Gian took this regular +trip to Murano. "It is a rendezvous," said Pascale. "It is worse than +that: an orgy among those lacemakers and the rogues of the glassworks. +Oh, to think that Gian should stoop to such things at his age--his +pretended asceticism is but a mask--and at his age!" + +The Pascale students took it up, and once came in collision with that +Tiziano of Cadore, who they say broke a boat-hook over the head of one +of them who had spoken ill of the Master. + +But this did not silence the talk, and one dark night, when the air +was full of flying mist, one of Pascale's students came to me and told +me that he wanted me to take a party over to Murano. The weather was +so bad that I refused to go--the wind blew in gusts, sheet lightning +filled the Eastern sky, and all honest men, but poor belated +gondoliers, had hied them home. + +I refused to go. + +Had I not seen Gian the painter go not half an hour before? Well, if +he could go, others could too. + +I refused to go--except for double fare. + +He accepted and placed the double fare in silver in my palm. Then he +gave a whistle and from behind the corners came trooping enough +swashbuckler students to swamp my gondola. I let in just enough to +fill the seats and pushed off, leaving several standing on the stone +steps cursing me and everything and everybody. + +As my boat slid away in the fog and headed on our course, I glanced +back and saw the three barca-loads following in my wake. + +There was much muffled talk, and orders from some one in charge to +keep silence. But there was passing of strong drink, and then talk, +and from it I gathered that these were all students from Pascale's, +out on one of those student carousals, intent on heaven knows what! It +was none of my business. + +We shipped considerable water, and some of the students were down on +their knees praying and bailing, bailing and praying. + +At last we reached the Murano landing. All got out, the barcas tied +up, and I tied up, too, determined to see what was doing. The strong +drink was passed, and a low, heavy-set fellow who seemed to be captain +charged all not to speak, but to follow him and do as he did. + +We took a side street where there was little travel and followed +through the dark and dripping way, fully a half-mile, down there in +that end of the island called the sailors' broglio, where they say no +man's life is safe if he has a silver coin or two. There was much +music in the wine-shops and shouts of mirth and dancing feet on stone +floors, but the rain had driven every one from the streets. + +We came to a long, low, stone building that used to be a theater, but +was now a dance-hall upstairs and a warehouse below. There were lights +upstairs and sounds of music. The stairway was dark, but we felt our +way up and on tiptoe advanced to the big double door, from under which +the light streamed. + +We had received our orders, and when we got to the landing we stood +there just an instant. "Now we have him--Gian the hypocrite!" whispered +the stout man in a hoarse breath. We burst in the doors with a whoop +and a bang. The change from the dark to the light sort of blinded us +at first. We all supposed that there was a dance in progress of +course, and the screams from women were just what we expected; but +when we saw several overturned easels and an old man, half-nude, and +too scared to move, seated on a model throne, we did not advance into +the hall as we intended. That one yell we gave was all the noise we +made. We stood there in a bunch, just inside the door, sort of dazed +and uncertain. We did not know whether to retreat, or charge on +through the hall as we had intended. We just stood there like a lot of +driveling fools. + +"Keep right at your work, my good people. Keep right at your work!" +called a pleasant voice. "I see we have some visitors." + +And Gian Bellini came forward. His robe was still tucked up under the +blue sash, but he had laid aside his black cap, and his tumbled gray +hair looked like the aureole of a saint. "Keep right at your work," he +said again, and then came forward and bade us welcome and begged us to +have seats. + +I dared not run away, so I sat down on one of the long seats that were +ranged around the wall. My companions did the same. There must have +been fifty easels, all ranged in a semicircle around the old man who +posed as a model. Several of the easels had been upset, and there was +much confusion when we entered. + +"Just help us to arrange things--that is right, thank you," said Gian +to the stout man who was captain of our party. To my astonishment the +stout man was doing just as he was bid, and was pacifying the women +students and straightening up their easels and stools. + +I was interested in watching Gian walking around, helping this one +with a stroke of his crayon, saying a word to that, smiling and +nodding to another. I just sat there and stared. These students were +not regular art students, I could see that plainly. Some were +children, ragged and barelegged, others were old men who worked in the +glass-factories, and surely with hands too old and stiff to ever paint +well. Still others were women and young girls of the town. I rubbed my +eyes and tried to make it out! + +The music we heard I could still hear--it came from the wine-shop +across the way. I looked around and what do you believe? My companions +had all gone. They had sneaked out one by one and left me alone. + +I watched my chance and when the Master's back was turned I tiptoed +out, too. + + ------------------------------------- + +When I got down on the street I found I had left my cap, but I dared +not go back after it. I made my way down to the landing, half running, +and when I got there not a boat was to be seen--the three barcas and my +gondola were gone. + +I thought I could see them, out through the mist, a quarter of a mile +away. I called aloud, but no answer came back but the hissing wind. I +was in despair--they were stealing my boat, and if they did not steal +it, it would surely be wrecked--my all, my precious boat! + +I cried and wrung my hands. I prayed! And the howling winds only ran +shrieking and laughing around the corners of the building. + +I saw a glimmering light down the beach at a little landing. I ran to +it, hoping some gondolier might be found who would row me over to the +city. There was one boat at the landing and in it a hunchback, sound +asleep, covered with a canvas. It was Gian Bellini's boat. I shook the +hunchback into wakefulness and begged him to row me across to the +city. I yelled into his deaf ears, but he pretended not to understand +me. Then I showed him the silver coin--the double fare--and tried to +place it in his hand. But no, he only shook his head. + +I ran up the beach, still looking for a boat. + +An hour had passed. + + ------------------------------------- + +I got back to the landing just as Gian came down to his boat. + +I approached him and explained that I was a poor worker in the +glass-factory, who had to work all day and half the night, and as I +lived over in the city and my wife was dying, I must get home. Would +he allow me to ride with His Highness? "Certainly--with pleasure, with +pleasure!" he answered, and then pulling something from under his sash +he said, "Is this your cap, Signor?" I took my cap, but my tongue was +paralyzed for the moment so I could not thank him. + +The wind had died down, the rain had ceased, and from between the +blue-black clouds the moon shone out. Gian rowed with a strong, fine +stroke, singing a "Te Deum Laudamus" softly to himself the while. + +I lay there and wept, thinking of my boat, my all, my precious boat! + +We reached the landing--and there was my boat, safely tied up, not a +cushion nor a cord missing. + +Gian Bellini? He may be a rogue as Pascale Salvini says--God knows! How +can I tell--I am only a poor gondolier! + + ------------------------------------- + +So here then endeth the Volume entitled "The Mintage," the same +being Ten Stories and One More written by Elbert Hubbard. The +whole done into a printed book by The Roycrofters at their Shop, +which is in the Village of East Aurora, Erie County, New York +State, this year of Grace mcmx and from the founding of The +Roycroft Shop the Sixteenth. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mintage, by Elbert Hubbard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MINTAGE *** + +***** This file should be named 17504-8.txt or 17504-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/5/0/17504/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Mintage + +Author: Elbert Hubbard + +Release Date: January 12, 2006 [EBook #17504] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MINTAGE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<p style="text-align: center"> +’Tis here you’ll find the mintage of my mind.—<span style="font-style: italic">Goethe.</span> +</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 428px;"> + <a name="frontispiece" id="frontispiece"></a> + <img src="images/hubbard.jpg" width="400" alt="Illustration: Elbert Hubbard" title="" /> + <p style="text-align: center">Elbert Hubbard</p> +</div> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<div style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 4.00em; margin-top: 4.00em;"> + <span style="font-size: 250%;"> + The Mintage + </span> + <br />by<br /> + <span style="font-size: 140%;"> + Elbert Hubbard<br /> + </span> + + <div class="figcenter" style="width: 428px;"> + <a name="coverimage" id="coverimage"></a> + <img src="images/cover.png" width="70%" alt="Illustration: Cover Image" title="" /> + </div> + + <span style="font-size: 80%"> + Copyright 1910<br /> + Elbert Hubbard + </span> + <br /><br /> +</div> + +<hr class="full" /> + + <p> <a name="Contents" id="Contents"></a></p> + <p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 150%">Contents</span></p> + + <ul class="TOC" style="list-style-type:upper-roman;margin-left:1em;font-variant:small-caps;"> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Five Babies + <span class="ralign">9</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_II">To The West + <span class="ralign">19</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_III">Simeon Stylites the Syrian + <span class="ralign">27</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Battle of Little Big Horn + <span class="ralign">39</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_V">Sam + <span class="ralign">61</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">Cleopatra and Cæsar + <span class="ralign">69</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">A Special Occasion + <span class="ralign">81</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Uncle Joe and Aunt Melinda + <span class="ralign">91</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">Billy and the Book + <span class="ralign">97</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_X">John the Baptist and Salome + <span class="ralign">105</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">The Master + <span class="ralign">111</span></a></li> + </ul> + + +<hr class="full" /> + + + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page8" id="page8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +All success consists in this: you are doing +something for somebody—are benefiting +humanity; and the feeling of success comes +from the consciousness of this.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page9" id="page9">[Pg 9]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>Five Babies</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + + +<p>Riding on the Grand +Trunk Railway a few +weeks ago, going from +Suspension Bridge to +Chicago, I saw a sight +so trivial that it seems +unworthy of mention. +Yet for three weeks I +have remembered it, +and so now I’ll relate it, in order to get +rid of it.</p> + +<p>And possibly these little incidents of life +are the items that make or mar existence. +</p><p>But here is what I saw on that railroad +train: five children, the oldest a girl of +ten, and the youngest a baby boy of three. +They were traveling alone and had come +from Germany, duly tagged, ticketed and +certified.</p> + +<p>They were going to their Grandmother +at Waukegan, Illinois.</p> + +<p>The old lady was to meet them in Chicago.</p> + +<p>The children spoke not a word of +English, but there is a universal language +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page10" id="page10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +of the heart that speaks and is understood. +So the trainmen and the children were on +very chummy terms.</p> + +<p>Now, at London, Ontario, our train waited +an hour for the Toronto and Montreal +connections.</p> + +<p>Just before we reached London, I saw +the Conductor take the three smallest +little passengers to the washroom at the +end of the car, roll up their sleeves, +turn their collars in, and duly wash their +hands and faces. Then he combed their +hair. They accepted the situation as if +they belonged to the Conductor’s family, +as of course they did for the time being. +It was a domestic scene that caused the +whole car to smile, and made everybody +know everybody else. A touch of nature +makes a whole coach kin.</p> + +<p>The children had a bushel-basket full +of eatables, but at London that Conductor +took the whole brood over to the dining-hall +for supper, and I saw two fat men +scrap as to who should have the privilege +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page11" id="page11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +of paying for the kiddies’ suppers. The +children munched and smiled and said +little things to each other in Teutonic +whispers. </p><p>After our train left London +and the Conductor had taken up his +tickets, he came back, turned over two +seats and placed the cushions lengthwise. +One of the trainmen borrowed a couple of +blankets from the sleeping-cars, and with +the help of three volunteered overcoats, +the babies were all put to bed, and duly +tucked in.</p> + +<p>I went back to my Pullman, and went to +bed. And as I dozed off I kept wondering +whether the Grandmother would be there +in the morning to meet the little travelers. +What sort of disaster had deprived them +of parents, I did not know, nor did I care +to ask. The children were alone, but +among friends. They were strong and +well, but they kept very close together +and looked to the oldest girl as a mother.</p> + +<p>But to be alone in Chicago would be +terrible! Would she come!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page12" id="page12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +And so I slept. In the morning there was +another Conductor in charge, a man I had +not before seen. I went into the day-coach, +thinking that the man might not know +about the babies, and that I might possibly +help the little immigrants. But my services +were not needed. The ten-year-old “little +other mother” had freshened up her +family, and the Conductor was assuring +them, in awfully bad German, that their +Grandmother would be there—although, +of course, he didn’t know anything at +all about it.</p> + +<p>When the train pulled into the long +depot and stopped, the Conductor took +the baby boy on one arm and a little +girl on the other.</p> + +<p>A porter carried the big lunch-basket, and +the little other mother led a toddler on each +side, dodging the hurrying passengers.</p> + +<p>Evidently I was the only spectator of the +play.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>“Will she be there—will she be there?” +I asked myself nervously.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page13" id="page13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +She was there, all right, there at the +gate. The Conductor was seemingly as +gratified as I. He turned his charges +over to the old woman, who was weeping +for joy, and hugging the children between +bursts of lavish, loving Deutsch.</p> + +<p>I climbed into a Parmelee bus and said, +“Auditorium Annex, please.”</p> + +<p>And as I sat there in the bus, while they +were packing the grips on top, the +Conductor passed by, carrying a tin +box in one hand and his train cap in +the other.</p> + +<p>I saw an Elk’s tooth on his watch-chain.</p> + +<p>I called to him, “I saw you help the +babies—good boy!”</p> + +<p>He looked at me in doubt.</p> + +<p>“Those German children,” I said; “I’m +glad you were so kind to them!”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” he answered, smiling; “yes, I had +forgotten; why, of course, that is a +railroad man’s business, you know—to +help everybody who needs help.”</p> + +<p>He waved his hand and disappeared +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page14" id="page14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +up the stairway that led to the offices. +</p><p>And it came to me that he had forgotten +the incident so soon, simply because to +help had become the habit of his life. +He may read this, and he may not. +There he was—big, bold, bluff and +bronzed, his hair just touched with the +frost of years, and beneath his brass +buttons a heart beating with a desire +to bless and benefit. I do not know +his name, but the sight of the man, +carrying a child on each arm, their +arms encircling his neck in perfect faith, +their long journey done, and he turning +them over in safety to their Grandmother, +was something to renew one’s faith in +humanity.</p> + +<p>Even a great Railway System has a soul.</p> + +<p>If you answer that corporations have +no souls, I’ll say: “Friend, you were +never more mistaken in your life. The +business that has no soul soon ceases to +exist; and the success of a company or +corporation turns on the kind of soul +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page15" id="page15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +it possesses. Soul is necessary to service. +Courtesy, kindness, honesty and efficiency +are tangible soul-assets; and all good +railroad men know it.”</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page18" id="page18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +By taking thought you can add cubits to your stature.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page19" id="page19">[Pg 19]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>To The West</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>To stand by the open +grave of one you have +loved, and feel the sky +shut down over less +worth in the world is +the supreme test.</p> + +<p>There you prove your +worth, if ever.</p> + +<p>You must live and face +the day, and face each succeeding day, +realizing that “the moving finger writes, +and having writ moves on, nor all your +tears shall blot a line of it.”</p> + +<p>Heroes are born, but it is calamity that +discovers them.</p> + +<p>Once in Western Kansas, in the early +Eighties, I saw a loaded four-horse wagon +skid and topple in going across a gully. +</p><p>The driver sprang from his seat and +tried to hold the wagon upright.</p> + +<p>The weight was too great for his strength, +powerful man though he was.</p> + +<p>The horses swerved down the ditch +instead of crossing it, and the overturning +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page20" id="page20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +wagon caught the man and pinned him +to the ground.</p> + +<p>Half a dozen of us sprang from our +horses. After much effort the tangled +animals were unhitched and the wagon +was righted.</p> + +<p>The man was dead.</p> + +<p>In the wagon were +the wife and six children, the oldest child +a boy of fifteen. All were safely caught +in the canvas top and escaped unhurt. +We camped there—not knowing what +else to do.</p> + +<p>We straightened the mangled form of +the dead, and covered the body with +a blanket.</p> + +<p>That night the mother and the oldest boy +sat by the campfire and watched the long +night away with their dead.</p> + +<p>The stars marched in solemn procession +across the sky.</p> + +<p>The slow, crawling night passed.</p> + +<p>The first faint flush of dawn appeared +in the East.</p> + +<p>I lay near the campfire, my head pillowed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page21" id="page21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +on a saddle, and heard the widowed +mother and her boy talking in low but +earnest tones.</p> + +<p>“We must go back—we must go back +to Illinois. It is the only thing to do,” +I heard the mother moan.</p> + +<p>And the boy answered: “Mother, listen +to what I say: We will go on—we will +go on. We know where father was going +to take us—we know what he was going +to do. We will go on, and we will do +what he intended to do, and if possible +we will do it better. We will go on!” +</p><p>That first burst of pink in the East +had turned to gold.</p> + +<p>Great streaks of light stretched from +horizon to zenith.</p> + +<p>I could see in the dim and hazy light +the hobbled horses grazing across the +plain a quarter of a mile away.</p> + +<p>The boy of fifteen arose and put fuel +on the fire.</p> + +<p>After breakfast I saw that boy get a spade, +a shovel and a pick out of the wagon.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page22" id="page22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +With help of others a grave was dug +there on the prairie.</p> + +<p>The dead was rolled in a blanket and +tied about with thongs, after the fashion +of the Indians.</p> + +<p>Lines were taken from a harness, and +we lowered the body into the grave. +</p><p>The grave was filled up by friendly +hands working in nervous haste.</p> + +<p>I saw the boy pat down the mound +with the back of a spade.</p> + +<p>I saw him carve with awkward, boyish +hands the initials of his father, the date +of his birth and the day of his death. +</p><p>I saw him drive the slab down at the +head of the grave.</p> + +<p>I saw him harness the four horses.</p> + +<p>I saw him help his little brothers into +the canvas-covered wagon.</p> + +<p>I saw him help his mother climb the +wheel as she took her place on the seat. +</p><p>I saw him spring up beside her.</p> + +<p>I saw him gather up the lines in his brown, +slim hands, and swing the whip over the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page23" id="page23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +leaders, as he gave the shrill word of +command and turned the horses to the +West.</p> + +<p>And the cavalcade moved forward to the +West—always to the West.</p> + +<p>The boy had met calamity and disaster. +He had not flinched.</p> + +<p>In a single day he had left boyhood behind +and become a man.</p> + +<p>And the years that followed proved him +genuine.</p> + +<p>What was it worked the change? Grief +and responsibility, nobly met.</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page26" id="page26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +The church has aureoled and sainted the +men and women who have fought the +Cosmic Urge. To do nothing and to be +nothing was regarded as a virtue.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page27" id="page27">[Pg 27]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>Simeon Stylites The Syrian</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>As the traveler journeys +through Southern Italy, +Sicily and certain parts +of what was Ancient +Greece, he will see +broken arches, parts +of viaducts, and now +and again a beautiful +column pointing to the +sky. All about is the desert, or solitary +pastures, and only this white milestone +marking the path of the centuries and +telling in its own silent, solemn and +impressive way of a day that is dead.</p> + +<p>In the Fifth Century a monk called +Simeon the Syrian, and known to us +as Simeon Stylites, having taken the vow +of chastity, poverty and obedience, began +to fear greatly lest he might not be true +to his pledge. And that he might live +absolutely beyond reproach, always in +public view, free from temptation, and +free from the tongue of scandal, he +decided to live in the world, and still +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page28" id="page28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +not be of it. To this end he climbed to +the top of a marble column, sixty feet +high, and there on the capstone he began +to live a life beyond reproach.</p> + +<p>Simeon was then twenty-four years old. +</p><p>The environment was circumscribed, but +there were outlook, sunshine, ventilation—three +good things. But beyond these +the place had certain disadvantages. The +capstone was a little less than three feet +square, so Simeon could not lie down. +He slept sitting, with his head bowed +between his knees, and, indeed, in this +posture he passed most of his time. Any +recklessness in movement, and he would +have slipped from his perilous position +and been dashed to death upon the stones +beneath.</p> + +<p>As the sun arose he stood up, just for a +few moments, and held out his arms in +greeting, blessing and in prayer. Three +times during the day did he thus stretch +his cramped limbs, and pray with his +face to the East. At such times, those +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page29" id="page29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +who stood near shared in his prayers, and +went away blessed and refreshed.</p> + +<p>How did Simeon get to the top of the +column?</p> + +<p>Well, his companions at the monastery, +a mile away, said he was carried there +in the night by a miraculous power; +that he went to sleep in his stone cell +and awoke on the pillar. Other monks +said that Simeon had gone to pay his +respects to a fair lady, and in wrath +God had caught him and placed him +on high. The probabilities are, however, +Terese, as viewed by an unbeliever, that +he shot a line over the column with a +bow and arrow and then drew up a rope +ladder and ascended with ease.</p> + +<p>However, in the morning the simple people +of the scattered village saw the man on the +column.</p> + +<p>All day he stayed there.</p> + +<p>And the next day he was still there.</p> + +<p>The days passed, with the scorching +heat of the midday sun, and the cool +winds of the night.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page30" id="page30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +Still Simeon kept his place.</p> + +<p>The rainy season came on. When the nights were cold +and dark, Simeon sat there with bowed +head, and drew the folds of his single +garment, a black robe, over his face.</p> + +<p>Another season passed; the sun again +grew warm, then hot, and the sandstorms +raged and blew, when the people +below almost lost sight of the man on +the column. Some prophesied he would +be blown off, but the morning light +revealed his form, naked from the waist +up, standing with hands outstretched to +greet the rising sun.</p> + +<p>Once each day, as darkness gathered, a +monk came with a basket containing a +bottle of goat’s milk and a little loaf of +black bread, and Simeon dropped down +a rope and drew up the basket.</p> + +<p>Simeon never spoke, for words are folly, +and to the calls of saint or sinner he +made no reply. He lived in a perpetual +attitude of adoration.</p> + +<p>Did he suffer? During those first weeks he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page31" id="page31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +must have suffered terribly and horribly. +There was no respite nor rest from the +hard surface of the rock, and aching +muscles could find no change from the +cramped and perilous position. If he fell, +it was damnation for his soul—all were +agreed as to this.</p> + +<p>But man’s body and mind accommodate +themselves to almost any condition. One +thing at least, Simeon was free from +economic responsibilities, free from social +cares and intrusion. Bores with sad stories +of unappreciated lives and fond hopes +unrealized, never broke in upon his peace. +He was not pressed for time. No frivolous +dame of tarnished fame sought to share +with him his perilous perch. The people +on a slow schedule, ten minutes late, never +irritated his temper. His correspondence +never got in a heap.</p> + +<p>Simeon kept no track of the days, having +no engagements to meet, nor offices to +perform, beyond the prayers at morn, +midday and night.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page32" id="page32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +Memory died in him, the hurts became +callouses, the world-pain died out of his +heart, and to cling became a habit.</p> + +<p>Language was lost in disuse.</p> + +<p>The food he ate was minimum in quantity; +sensation ceased, and the dry, hot winds +reduced bodily tissue to a dessicated +something called a saint—loved, feared +and reverenced for his fortitude.</p> + +<p>This pillar, which had once graced the +portal of a pagan temple, again became +a place of pious pilgrimage, and people +flocked to Simeon’s rock, so that they +might be near when he stretched out +his black, bony hands to the East, and +the spirit of Almighty God, for a space, +hovered close around.</p> + +<p>So much attention did the abnegation of +Simeon attract that various other pillars, +marking the ruins of art and greatness +gone, in that vicinity, were crowned +with pious monks. The thought of these +monks was to show how Christianity +had triumphed over heathenism. Imitators +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page33" id="page33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +were numerous. About then the Bishops +in assembly asked, “Is Simeon sincere?” +To test the matter of Simeon’s pride, he +was ordered to come down from his +retreat.</p> + +<p>As to his chastity, there was little doubt, +his poverty was beyond question, but how +about obedience to his superiors?</p> + +<p>The order was shouted up to him in a +Bishop’s voice—he must let down his rope, +draw up a ladder, and descend.</p> + +<p>Straightway Simeon made preparation +to obey. And then the Bishops relented +and cried, “We have changed our minds, +and now order you to remain!”</p> + +<p>Simeon lifted his hands in adoration and +thankfulness and renewed his lease.</p> + +<p>And so he lived on and on and on—he +lived on the top of that pillar, never once +descending for thirty years.</p> + +<p>All his former companions grew aweary, +and one by one died, and the monastery +bells tolled their requiem as they were +laid to rest. Did Simeon hear the bells +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page34" id="page34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +and say, “Soon it will be my turn”? +</p> + +<p>Probably not. His senses had flown, +for what good were they! The young +monk who now at eventide brought the +basket with the bottle of goat’s milk +and the loaf of brown bread was born +since Simeon had taken his place on +the pillar.</p> + +<p>“He has always been there,” the people +said, and crossed themselves hurriedly. +</p><p>But one evening when the young monk +came with his basket, no line was dropped +down from above. He waited and then +called aloud, but all in vain.</p> + +<p>When sunrise came, there sat the monk, +his face between his knees, the folds of +his black robe drawn over his head. But +he did not rise and lift his hands in prayer. +</p><p>All day he sat there, motionless.</p> + +<p>The people watched in whispered silence. +Would he arise at sundown and pray, +and with outstretched hands bless the +assembled pilgrims?</p> + +<p>And as they watched, a vulture came +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page35" id="page35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +sailing slowly through the blue ether, +and circled nearer and nearer; and off +on the horizon was another—and still +another, circling nearer and ever nearer.</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page38" id="page38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +I would write across the sky in letters of +light this undisputed truth, proven by +every annal of history, that the only way +to help yourself is through loyalty to +those who trust and employ you.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page39" id="page39">[Pg 39]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>Battle of the Little Big Horn</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>It was in the Spring +of Eighteen Hundred +Seventy-six that the +Sioux on the Dakota +Reservation became +restless, and after various +fruitless efforts to +restrain them, moved +Westward in a body. +</p><p>This periodic migration was a habit and +a tradition of the tribe. For hundreds of +years they had visited the buffalo country +on an annual hunt.</p> + +<p>Now the buffaloes were gone, save for +a few scattered herds in the mountains. +The Indians did not fully realize this, +although they realized that as the Whites +came in, the game went out. The Sioux +were hunters and horsemen by nature. +They traveled and moved about with great +freedom. If restrained or interfered with +they grew irritable and then hostile.</p> + +<p>Now they were full of fight. The Whites +had ruined the hunting-grounds; besides +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page40" id="page40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +that, white soldiers had fought them if +they moved to their old haunts, sacred +for their use and bequeathed to them +by their ancestors. In dead of Winter, +when the snows lay deep and they were +in their teepees, crouching around the +scanty fire, soldiers had charged on +horseback through the villages, shooting +into the teepees, killing women and +children.</p> + +<p>At the head of these soldiers was a white +chief, whom they called Yellow Hair. He +was a smashing, dashing, fearless soldier +who understood the Indian ways and +haunts, and then used this knowledge +for the undoing of the Red Men.</p> + +<p>Yellow Hair wanted to keep them in +one little place all the time, and desired +that they should raise corn like cowardly +Crows, when what they wanted was to +be free and hunt!</p> + +<p>They feared Yellow Hair—and hated him. +</p><p>Custer was a man of intelligence—nervous, +energetic, proud. His honesty +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page41" id="page41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +and sincerity were beyond dispute. He +was a natural Indian fighter. He could +pull his belt one hole tighter and go +three whole days without food. He could +ride like the wind, or crawl in the grass, +and knew how to strike, quickly and +unexpectedly, as the first streak of dawn +came into the East. Like Napoleon, he +knew the value of time, and, in fact, he +had somewhat of the dash and daring, +not to mention the vanity, of the Corsican. +His men believed in him and loved him, +for he marched them to victory, and with +odds of five to one had won again and +again.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>But Custer had the defect of his qualities; +and to use the Lincoln phrase, sometimes +took counsel of his ambition.</p> + +<p>He had fought in the Civil War in places +where no prisoners were taken, and where +there was no commissary. And this wild, +free life had bred in him a habit of unrest—a +chafing at discipline and all rules of +modern warfare.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page42" id="page42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +Results were the only things he cared for, +and power was his Deity.</p> + +<p>When the Indians grew restless in the +Spring of Seventy-six, Custer was called +to Washington for consultation. President +Grant was not satisfied with our Indian +policy—he thought that in some ways +the Whites were the real savages. The +Indians he considered as children, not +as criminals.</p> + +<p>Custer tried to tell him differently. Custer +knew the bloodthirsty character of the +Sioux, their treachery and cunning—he +showed scars by way of proof!</p> + +<p>The authorities at Washington needed +Custer. However, his view of the case +did not mean theirs. Custer believed in +the mailed hand, and if given the power +he declared he would settle the Indian +Question in America once and forever. +His confidence and assumption and what +Senator Dawes called swagger were not to +their liking. Anyway, Custer was attracting +altogether too much attention—the people +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page43" id="page43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +followed him on Pennsylvania Avenue +whenever he appeared.</p> + +<p>General Terry was chosen to head the +expedition against the hostile Sioux, and +Custer was to go as second in command. +</p><p>Terry was older than Custer, but Custer +had seen more service on the plains. +Custer demurred—threatened to resign—and +wrote a note to the President asking +for a personal interview and requesting a +review of the situation.</p> + +<p>President Grant refused to see Custer, and +reminded him that the first duty of a +soldier was obedience.</p> + +<p>Custer left Washington, glum and sullen—grieved. +But he was a soldier, and so +he reported at Fort Lincoln, as ordered, +to serve under a man who knew less +about Indian fighting than did he.</p> + +<p>The force of a thousand men embarked on +six boats at Bismarck. There a banquet +was given in honor of Terry and Custer. +“You will hear from us by courier before +July Fourth,” said Custer.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page44" id="page44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +He was still moody and depressed, but +declared his willingness to do his duty.</p> + +<p>Terry did not like his attitude and told +him so. Poor Custer was stung by the +reprimand.</p> + +<p>He was only a boy, thirty-seven +years old, to be sure, but with the +whimsical, daring, ambitious and jealous +quality of the center-rush. Custer at times +had his eye on the White House—why +not! Had not Grant been a soldier?</p> + +<p>Women worshiped Custer, and men who +knew him, never doubted his earnestness +and honesty. He lacked humor.</p> + +<p>He was both sincere and serious.</p> + +<p>The expedition moved on up the tortuous +Missouri, tying up at night to avoid the +treacherous sandbars that lay in wait. +</p><p>They had reached the Yellowstone +River, and were getting into the Indian +Country.</p> + +<p>To lighten the boats, Terry divided his +force into two parts. Custer disembarked +on the morning of the Twenty-fifth of +June, with four hundred forty-three men, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page45" id="page45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +besides a dozen who looked after the +pack-train.</p> + +<p>Scouts reported that the hostile Sioux +were camped on the Little Big Horn, +seventy-five miles across the country.</p> + +<p>Terry gave Custer orders to march the +seventy-five miles in forty-eight hours, +and attack the Indians at the head of +their camp at daylight on the morning +of the Twenty-seventh. There was to be +no parley—panic was the thing desired, +and when Custer had started the savages +on the run, Terry would attack them at +the other end of their village, and the +two fleeing mobs of savages would be +driven on each other, and then they +would cast down their arms and the +trick would be done.</p> + +<p>Next, to throw a cordon of soldiers +around the camp and hold it would be +easy.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Custer and his men rode away at about +eight o’clock on the morning of the +Twenty-fifth. They were in high spirits, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page46" id="page46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +for the cramped quarters on the transports +made freedom doubly grateful.</p> + +<p>They disappeared across the mesa and +through the gray-brown hills, and soon +only a cloud of dust marked their passage. +</p><p>After five miles had been turned off on +a walk, Custer ordered a trot, and then, +where the ground was level, a canter.</p> + +<p>On they went.</p> + +<p>They pitched camp at four o’clock, having +covered forty miles. The horses were +unsaddled and fed, and supper cooked +and eaten.</p> + +<p>But sleep was not to be—these men shall +sleep no more!</p> + +<p>The bugles sounded “Boots and Saddles.” +Before sunset they were again on their +way.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>By three o’clock on the morning of the +Twenty-sixth, they had covered more than +seventy miles.</p> + +<p>They halted for coffee.</p> + +<p>The night, waiting for the dawn, was +doubly dark.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page47" id="page47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +Fast-riding scouts had gone on ahead, +and now reported the Indians camped +just over the ridge, four miles away.</p> + +<p>Custer divided his force into two parts. +The Indians were camped along the river +for three miles. There were about two +thousand of them, and the women and +children were with them.</p> + +<p>Reno with two hundred fifty men was +ordered to swing around and attack the +village from the South. Custer with one +hundred ninety-three men would watch +the charge, and when the valiant Reno had +started the panic and the Indians were +in confusion, his force would then sweep +around and charge them from the other +end of the village.</p> + +<p>This was Terry’s plan of battle, only +Custer was going to make the capture +without Terry’s help.</p> + +<p>When Terry came up the following day, +he would find the work all done and +neatly, too. Results are the only things +that count, and victory justifies itself. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page48" id="page48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +</p><p>The battle would go down on the records +as Custer’s triumph!</p> + +<p>Reno took a two-mile detour, and just at +peep of day, ere the sun had gilded the +tops of the cottonwoods, charged, with +yells and rapid firing, into the Indian +village. Custer stood on the ridge, his +men mounted and impatient just below +on the other side.</p> + +<p>He could distinguish +Reno’s soldiers as they charged into the +underbrush. Their shouts and the sound +of firing filled his fighter’s heart.</p> + +<p>The Indians were in confusion—he could +see them by the dim light, stampeding. +They were running in brownish masses +right around the front of the hill where +he stood. He ordered the bugles to blow +the charge.</p> + +<p>The soldiers greeted the order with a +yell—tired muscles, the sleepless night, +its seventy-five miles of hard riding, +were forgotten. The battle would be +fought and won in less time than a +man takes to eat his breakfast.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page49" id="page49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +Down the slope swept Custer’s men +to meet the fleeing foe.</p> + +<p>But now the savages had ceased to +flee. They lay in the grass and fired. +</p><p>Several of Custer’s horses fell.</p> + +<p>Three of his men threw up their hands, +and dropped from their saddles, limp +like bags of oats, and their horses ran +on alone.</p> + +<p>The gully below was full of Indians, and +these sent a murderous fire at Custer as he +came. His horses swerved, but several ran +right on and disappeared, horse and rider +in the sunken ditch, as did Napoleon’s +men at Waterloo.</p> + +<p>The mad, headlong charge hesitated. The +cottonwoods, the water and the teepees +were a hundred yards away.</p> + +<p>Custer glanced back, and a mile distant +saw Reno’s soldiers galloping wildly up +the steep slope of the hill.</p> + +<p>Reno’s charge had failed—instead of +riding straight down through the length +of the village and meeting Custer, he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page50" id="page50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +had gotten only fifty rods, and then had +been met by a steady fire from Indians +who held their ground. He wedged them +back, but his horses, already overridden, +refused to go on, and the charging troops +were simply carried out of the woods into +the open, and once there they took to the +hills for safety, leaving behind, dead, +one-third of their force.</p> + +<p>Custer quickly realized the hopelessness +of charging alone into a mass of Indians, +who were exultant and savage in the +thought of victory. Panic was not for +them.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>They were armed with Springfield rifles, +while the soldiers had only short-range +carbines.</p> + +<p>The bugles now ordered a retreat, and +Custer’s men rode back to the top of +the hill—with intent to join forces with +Reno.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Reno was hopelessly cut off. Determined +Sioux filled the gully that separated the +two little bands of brave men.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page51" id="page51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +Custer, evidently, thought that Reno had +simply withdrawn to re-form his troop, +and that any moment Reno would ride +to his rescue.</p> + +<p>Custer decided to hold the hill.</p> + +<p>The Indians were shooting at him from +long range, occasionally killing a horse. +</p><p>He told off his fours and ordered the +horses sent to the rear.</p> + +<p>The fours led their horses back toward +where they had left their packmules +when they had stopped for coffee at +three o’clock.</p> + +<p>But the fours had not gone half a mile +when they were surrounded by a mob +of Indians that just closed in on them. +Every man was killed—the horses were +galloped off by the women and children. +</p><p>Custer now realized that he was caught +in a trap. The ridge where his men lay +face down was half a mile long, and not +more than twenty feet across at the top. +The Indians were everywhere—in the +gullies, in the grass, in little scooped-out +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page52" id="page52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +holes. The bullets whizzed above the +heads of Custer’s men as they lay there, +flattening their bodies in the dust.</p> + +<p>The morning sun came out, dazzling +and hot.</p> + +<p>It was only nine o’clock.</p> + +<p>The men were without food and without +water. The Little Big Horn danced over +its rocky bed and shimmered in the golden +light, only half a mile away, and there in +the cool, limpid stream they had been +confident they would now swim and fish, +the battle over, while they proudly held +the disarmed Indians against General +Terry’s coming.</p> + +<p>But the fight had not been won, and +death lay between them and water. The +only thing to do was to await Reno or +Terry. Reno might come at any time, +and Terry would arrive without fail at +tomorrow’s dawn—he had said so, and +his word was the word of a soldier.</p> + +<p>Custer had blundered.</p> + +<p>The fight was lost.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page53" id="page53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +Now it was just a question of endurance. +Noon came, and the buzzards began to +gather in the azure.</p> + +<p>The sun was blistering hot—there was +not a tree, nor a bush, nor a green blade +of grass within reach.</p> + +<p>The men had ceased to joke and banter. The situation +was serious. Some tried to smoke, but +their parching thirst was thus only aggravated—they +threw their pipes away.</p> + +<p>The Indians now kept up an occasional +shooting.</p> + +<p>They were playing with the +soldiers as a cat plays with a mouse.</p> + +<p>The Indian is a cautious fighter—he +makes no sacrifices in order to win. +Now he had his prey secure.</p> + +<p>Soon the soldiers would run out of +ammunition, and then one more day, +or two at least, and thirst and fatigue +would reduce brave men into old women, +and the squaws could rush in and pound +them on the head with clubs.</p> + +<p>The afternoon dragged along its awful +length. Time dwindled and dawdled.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page54" id="page54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +At last the sun sank, a ball of fire in +the West.</p> + +<p>The moon came out.</p> + +<p>Now and then a Sioux would creep up +into shadowy view, but a shot from a +soldier would send him back into hiding. +Down in the cottonwoods the squaws +made campfires and were holding a +dance, singing their songs of victory. +</p><p>Custer warned his men that sleep +was death. This was their second sleepless +night, and the men were feverish with +fatigue. Some babbled in strange tongues, +and talked with sisters and sweethearts +and people who were not there—reason +was tottering.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page55" id="page55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +With Custer was an Indian boy, sixteen +years old, “Curley the Crow.” Custer +now at about midnight told Curley to +strip himself and crawl out among the +Indians, and if possible, get out through +the lines and tell Terry of their position. +Several of Custer’s men had tried to reach +water, but none came back.</p> + +<p>Curley got through the lines—his boldness +in mixing with the Indians and his red skin +saving him. He took a long way round +and ran to tell Terry the seriousness of +the situation.</p> + +<p>Terry was advancing, but was hampered +and harassed by Indians for twenty miles. +They fired at him from gullies, ridges, +rocks, prairie-dog mounds, and then +retreated. He had to move with caution. +Instead of arriving at daylight as he +expected, Terry was three hours behind. +The Indians surrounding Custer saw the +dust from the advancing troop.</p> + +<p>They hesitated to charge Custer boldly +as he lay on the hilltop, entrenched by +little ditches dug in the night with knives, +tin cups and bleeding fingers.</p> + +<p>It was easy to destroy Custer, but it +meant a dead Sioux for every white +soldier.</p> + +<p>The Indians made sham charges to +draw Custer’s fire, and then withdrew. +</p><p>They circled closer. The squaws came +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page56" id="page56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +up with sticks and stones and menaced +wildly.</p> + +<p>Custer’s fire grew less and less. He was +running out of ammunition.</p> + +<p>Terry was only five miles away.</p> + +<p>The Indians closed in like a cloud around +Custer and his few survivors.</p> + +<p>It was a hand-to-hand fight—one against +a hundred.</p> + +<p>In five minutes every man was dead, and +the squaws were stripping the mangled +and bleeding forms.</p> + +<p>Already the main body of Indians was +trailing across the plains toward the +mountains.</p> + +<p>Terry arrived, but it was too late.</p> + +<p>An hour later Reno limped in, famished, +half of his men dead or wounded, sick, +undone.</p> + +<p>To follow the fleeing Indians was useless—the +dead soldiers must be decently +buried, and the living succored. Terry +himself had suffered sore.</p> + +<p>The Indians were five thousand strong, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page57" id="page57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +not two. They had gathered up all the +other tribes for more than a hundred miles. +Now they moved North toward Canada. +Terry tried to follow, but they held him +off with a rear-guard, like white veterans. +The Indians escaped across the border.</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page60" id="page60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +Anybody can order, but to serve with grace, +tact and effectiveness is a fine art.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page61" id="page61">[Pg 61]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>Sam</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>In San Francisco lived +a lawyer—age, sixty—rich +in money, rich +in intellect, a business +man with many interests.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Now, this lawyer was a +bachelor, and lived in +apartments with his +Chinese servant “Sam.”</p> + +<p>Sam and his master had been together +for fifteen years.</p> + +<p>The servant knew the wants of his +employer as though he were his other +self. No orders were necessary.</p> + +<p>If there was to be a company—one +guest or a hundred—Sam was told the +number, that was all, and everything +was provided.</p> + +<p>This servant was cook, valet, watchman, +friend.</p> + +<p>No stray, unwished-for visitor ever got +to the master to rob him of his rest +when he was at home.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page62" id="page62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +If extra help was wanted, Sam secured +it; he bought what was needed; and when +the lawyer awakened in the morning, it +was to the singing of a tiny music-box +with a clock attachment set for seven +o’clock.</p> + +<p>The bath was ready; a clean shirt was +there on the dresser, with studs and +buttons in place; collar and scarf were +near; the suit of clothes desired hung +over a chair; the right pair of shoes, +polished like a mirror, was at hand, +and on the mantel was a half-blown +rose, with the dew still upon it, for a +boutonniere.</p> + +<p>Downstairs, the breakfast, +hot and savory, waited.</p> + +<p>When the good man was ready to go +to the office, silent as a shadow stood +Sam in the hallway, with overcoat, hat +and cane in hand.</p> + +<p>When the weather was threatening, an +umbrella was substituted for the cane. +The door was opened, and the master +departed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page63" id="page63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +When he returned at nightfall, on his +approach the door swung wide.</p> + +<p>Sam never took a vacation; he seemed +not to either eat or sleep.</p> + +<p>He was always near when needed; he +disappeared when he should.</p> + +<p>He knew nothing and he knew everything.</p> + +<p>For weeks scarcely a word might pass +between these men, they understood each +other so well.</p> + +<p>The lawyer grew to have a great affection +for his servant.</p> + +<p>He paid him a hundred dollars a month, +and tried to devise other ways to show +his gratitude; but Sam wanted nothing, +not even thanks.</p> + +<p>All he desired was the privilege to serve.</p> + +<p>But one morning as Sam poured his +master’s coffee, he said quietly, without +a shade of emotion on his yellow face, +“Next week I leave you.”</p> + +<p>The lawyer smiled.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page64" id="page64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +“Next week I leave you,” repeated the +Chinese; “I hire for you better man.”</p> + +<p>The lawyer set down his cup of coffee. +He looked at the white-robed servant. +He felt the man was in earnest.</p> + +<p>“So you are going to leave me—I do +not pay you enough, eh? That Doctor +Sanders who was here—he knows what +a treasure you are. Don’t be a fool, Sam; +I’ll make it a hundred and fifty a month—say +no more.”</p> + +<p>“Next week I leave you—I go to China,” +said the servant impassively.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I see! You are going back for a +wife? All right, bring her here—you will +return in two months? I do not object; +bring your wife here—there is work for +two to keep this place in order. The place +is lonely, anyway. I’ll see the Collector +of the Port, myself, and arrange your +passage-papers.”</p> + +<p>“I go to China next week: I need no papers—I +never come back,” said the man with +exasperating calmness and persistence.</p> + +<p>"By God, you shall not go!" said the +lawyer.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page65" id="page65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +“By God, I will!” answered the heathen. +</p><p>It was the first time in their experience +together that the servant had used such +language, or such a tone, toward his +master.</p> + +<p>The lawyer pushed his chair back, and +after an instant said, quietly, “Sam, you +must forgive me; I spoke quickly. I do +not own you—but tell me, what have +I done—why do you leave me this way, +you know I need you!”</p> + +<p>“I will not tell you why I go—you laugh.” +</p> + +<p>“No, I shall not laugh.”</p> + +<p>“You will.”</p> + +<p>“I say, I will not.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, I go to China to die!”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense! You can die here. Haven’t +I agreed to send your body back if you +die before I do?”</p> + +<p>“I die in four weeks, two days!”</p> + +<p>“What!”</p> + +<p>“My brother, he in prison. He twenty-six, +I fifty. He have wife and baby. In China +they accept any man same family to die. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page66" id="page66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +I go to China, give my money to my +brother—he live, I die!”</p> + +<p>The next day a new Chinaman appeared +as servant in the lawyer’s household. In +a week this servant knew everything, and +nothing, just like Sam.</p> + +<p>And Sam disappeared, without saying +good-by.</p> + +<p>He went to China and was beheaded, +four weeks and two days from the day +he broke the news of his intent to go. +</p><p>His brother was set free.</p> + +<p>And the lawyer’s household goes along +about as usual, save when the master +calls for “Sam,” when he should say, +“Charlie.”</p> + +<p>At such times there comes a kind of +clutch at his heart, but he says nothing.</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page68" id="page68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +When power and beauty meet, the world +would do well to take to its cyclone-cellar.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page69" id="page69">[Pg 69]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>Cleopatra and Cæsar</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>The sole surviving +daughter of the great +King Ptolemy of Egypt, +Cleopatra was seventeen +years old when her +father died.</p> + +<p>By his will the King +made her joint heir to +the throne with her +brother Ptolemy, several years her junior. +And according to the custom not unusual +among royalty at that time, it was provided +that Ptolemy should become the +husband of Cleopatra.</p> + +<p>She was a woman—her brother a child. +</p><p>She had intellect, ambition, talent. She +knew the history of her own country, and +that of Assyria, Greece and Rome; and +all the written languages of the world +were to her familiar. She had been +educated by the philosophers, who had +brought from Greece the science of +Pythagoras and Plato. Her companions +had been men—not women, or nurses, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page70" id="page70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +or pious, pedantic priests.</p> + +<p>Through the +veins of her young body pulsed and +leaped life, plus.</p> + +<p>She abhorred the thought of an alliance +with her weak-chinned brother; and the +ministers of State, who suggested another +husband as a compromise, were dismissed +with a look.</p> + +<p>They said she was intractable, contemptuous, +unreasonable, and was scheming +for the sole possession of the throne.</p> + +<p>She was not to be diverted even by +ardent courtiers who were sent to her, +and who lay in wait ready with amorous +sighs—she scorned them all.</p> + +<p>Yet she was a woman still, and in her +dreams she saw the coming prince.</p> + +<p>She was banished from Alexandria.</p> + +<p>A few friends followed her, and an army +was formed to force from the enemy her +rights.</p> + +<p>But other things were happening—a +Roman army came leisurely drifting in +with the tide and disembarked at Alexandria. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page71" id="page71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +The Great Cæsar himself was in +command—a mere holiday, he said. He +had intended to join the land forces of +Mark Antony and help crush the rebellious +Pompey, but Antony had done the trick +alone; and only a few days before, word +had come that Pompey was dead.</p> + +<p>Cæsar knew that civil war was on in +Alexandria, and being near he sailed +slowly in, sending messengers on ahead +warning both sides to lay down their arms. +</p><p>With him was the far-famed invincible +Tenth Legion that had ravished Gaul. +Cæsar wanted to rest his men and, +incidentally, to reward them. They took +possession of the city without a blow. +</p> + +<p>Cleopatra’s troops laid down their arms, +but Ptolemy’s refused. They were simply +chased beyond the walls, and their punishment +for the time being was deferred.</p> + +<p>Cæsar took possession of the palace of +the King, and his soldiers accommodated +themselves in the houses, public buildings, +and temples as best they could.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page72" id="page72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +Cleopatra asked for a personal interview, +in order to present her cause.</p> + +<p>Cæsar declined to meet her—he understood +the trouble—many such cases he had +seen. Claimants for thrones were not new +to him. Where two parties quarreled, both +are right—or wrong—it really mattered +little.</p> + +<p>It is absurd to quarrel—still more foolish +to fight.</p> + +<p>Cæsar was a man of peace, and to keep +the peace he would appoint one of his +generals governor, and make Egypt a +Roman colony.</p> + +<p>In the meantime he would rest a week +or two, with the kind permission of +the Alexandrians, and write upon his +“Commentaries”—no, he would not see +either Cleopatra or Ptolemy—any desired +information they would get through his +trusted emissaries.</p> + +<p>In the service of Cleopatra was a Sicilian +slave who had been her personal servant +since she was a little girl. This man’s +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page73" id="page73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +name was Appolidorus. He was a man of +giant stature and imposing mien. Ten +years before his tongue had been torn +out as a token that as he was to attend +a queen he should tell no secrets.</p> + +<p>Appolidorus had but one thought in life, +and that was to defend his gracious queen. +He slept at the door of Cleopatra’s tent, +a naked sword at his side, held in his +clenched and brawny hand.</p> + +<p>And now behold at dusk of day the grim +and silent Appolidorus, carrying upon his +giant shoulders a large and curious rug, +rolled up and tied ’round at each end with +ropes.</p> + +<p>He approaches the palace of the +King, and at the guarded gate hands a note +to the officer in charge. This note gives +information to the effect that a certain +patrician citizen of Alexandria, being +glad that the gracious Cæsar had deigned +to visit Egypt, sends him the richest rug +that can be woven—done, in fact, by his +wife and daughters and held against this +day, awaiting Rome’s greatest son.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page74" id="page74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +The officer reads the note, and orders a +soldier to accept the gift and carry it +within—presents were constantly arriving. +A sign from the dumb giant makes the +soldier stand back—the present is for +Cæsar and can be delivered only in +person. “Lead and I will follow,” were +the words done in stern pantomime. +The officer laughs, sends in the note, and +the messenger soon returning, signifies +that the present is acceptable and the +slave bearing it shall be shown in. +Appolidorus shifts his burden to the +other shoulder, and follows the soldier +through the gate, up the marble steps, +along the splendid hallway, lighted by +flaring torches and lined with reclining +Roman soldiers.</p> + +<p>At a door they pause an instant, there +is a whispered word—they enter.</p> + +<p>The room is furnished as becomes the +room that is the private library of the +King of Egypt. In one corner, seated +at the table, pen in hand, sits a man +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page75" id="page75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +of middle age, pale, clean-shaven, with +hair close-cropped. His dress is not that +of a soldier—it is the flowing white robe +of a Roman Priest. Only one servant +attends this man, a secretary, seated near, +who rises and explains that the present +is acceptable and shall be deposited on +the floor.</p> + +<p>The pale man at the table looks up, +smiles a tired smile and murmurs in a +perfunctory way his thanks.</p> + +<p>Appolidorus having laid his burden on +the floor, kneels to untie the ropes. +The secretary explains that he need not +trouble, pray bear thanks and again +thanks to his master—he need not tarry! +</p><p>The dumb man on his knees neither +hears nor heeds. The rug is unrolled. +</p><p>From out the roll a woman leaps +lightly to her feet—a beautiful young +woman of twenty.</p> + +<p>She stands there, poised, defiant, gazing +at the pale-faced man seated at the table. +</p><p>He is not surprised—he never was. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page76" id="page76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +One might have supposed he received +all his visitors in this manner.</p> + +<p>“Well?” he says in a quiet way, a half-smile +parting his thin lips.</p> + +<p>The breast of the woman heaves with +tumultuous emotion—just an instant. She +speaks, and there is no tremor in her +tones. Her voice is low, smooth and +scarcely audible: “I am Cleopatra.”</p> + +<p>The man at the desk lays down his pen, +leans back and gently nods his head, +as much as to say, indulgently, “Yes, +my child, I hear—go on!”</p> + +<p>“I am Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, and +I would speak with thee, alone.”</p> + +<p>She pauses; then raising one jeweled +arm motions to Appolidorus that he +shall withdraw.</p> + +<p>With a similar motion, the man at the +desk signifies the same to his astonished +secretary.</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p>Appolidorus went down the long hallway, +down the stone steps and waited at the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page77" id="page77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +outer gate amid the throng of soldiers. +They questioned him, gibed him, railed +at him, but they got no word in reply. +</p><p>He waited—he waited an hour, two—and +then came a messenger with a note +written on a slip of parchment. The +words ran thus: “Well-beloved ’Dorus: +Veni, vidi, vici! Go fetch my maids; +also, all of our personal belongings.”</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page80" id="page80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +As the cities are all only two days from +famine, so is man’s life constantly but a +step from dissolution.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page81" id="page81">[Pg 81]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>A Special Occasion</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>Once on a day, I spoke +at the Athenæum, New +Orleans, for the Young +Men’s Hebrew Association.</p> + +<p>When they had asked +my fee I answered, +“One Hundred Fifty +Dollars.” The reply +was, “We will pay you Two Hundred—it +is to be a special occasion.”</p> + +<p>A carriage was sent to my hotel for me. +The Jews may be close traders, but when +it comes to social functions, they know +what to do. The Jew is the most generous +man in the world, even if he can be at +times cent per cent.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page82" id="page82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +As I approached the Athenæum I thought, +“What a beautiful building!” It was stone +and brick—solid, subdued, complete and +substantial. The lower rooms were used +for the Hebrew Club. Upstairs stretched +the splendid hall, as I could tell from the +brilliantly lighted windows.</p> + + +<p>Inside, I noticed that the stairways were +carpeted with Brussels. Glancing through +the wide doorways, I beheld an audience +of more than two thousand people. The +great chandeliers sent out a dazzling glory +from their crystal and gold. At the sides, +rich tapestries and hangings of velvet +covered the windows.</p> + +<p>“A beautiful building,” I said to my +old-time friend, Maurice J. Pass, the +Secretary of the Club.</p> + +<p>He smiled in satisfaction and replied, +“Well, we seldom let things go by default—you +have tonight as fine an audience as +ever assembled in New Orleans.”</p> + +<p>We passed down a side hallway and under +the stage, preparatory to going on the +platform. In this room below the stage a +single electric light shone. The place was +dark and dingy, in singular contrast to +the beauty, light, cleanliness and order +just beyond. In the corner were tables +piled high—evidently used for banquets—broken +furniture and discarded boxes. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page83" id="page83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +</p><p>Several smart young men in full dress +sat on the tables smoking cigarettes. One +young man said in explanation, “We +were crowded out—had to give up our +seats to ladies—so we are going to sit on +the stage.”</p> + +<p>The soft blue smoke from the cigarettes +seemed to hug close about the lonely +electric light.</p> + +<p>I saw the smoke and thought that beside +the odor of tobacco I detected the smell +of smoldering pine.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it a trifle smoky here?” I said +to the young man nearest me.</p> + +<p>He laughed at this remark and handed +me a cigarette.</p> + +<p>The Secretary of the Club and I went +up the narrow stairs to the stage. As +we stood there behind the curtain I +looked at the pleasant-faced man. “You +didn’t detect the odor of burning wood +down there, did you?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“No; but you see the windows are open, +and there are bonfires outside, I suppose.” +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page84" id="page84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +</p><p>“I am a fool,” I thought; “and James +Whitcomb Riley was right when he said +that the speaker who is about to make +his bow to an audience is always so +keyed up that at the moment he is +incapable of sane thinking.”</p> + +<p>I excused myself and walked over to +an open window at the back of the +stage and looked down.</p> + +<p>It must have been forty feet to the stony +street beneath.</p> + +<p>Then I went to a side window and +threw up the sash. This window looked +out on a roof ten or twelve feet below. +I got a broken broom that stood in the +corner and propped the window open. +</p><p>The thought of fire was upon me and +I was inwardly planning what I would +do in case of a stampede. I am always +thinking about what I would do should +this or that happen. Nothing can surprise +me—not even death. If any of my best +helpers should leave me, I have it all +planned exactly whom I will put in their +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page85" id="page85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +places. I have it arranged who will take +my own place—my will is made and +my body is to be cremated.</p> + +<p>“Cremated? Not tonight!” I said to +myself, as I placed the broom under +the sash. “If a panic occurs, the people +will go out of the doors and I will stick +to the stage until my coat-tails singe. +I’ll say that the fire is in an adjoining +building; then I’ll smilingly bow myself +off the stage and gently drop out of that +window.”</p> + +<p>“All ready when you are,” said Mr. Fass. +</p><p>I passed out on the stage before that +vast sea of faces.</p> + +<p>It was a glorious sight. There was a row +of military men from the French warship +in the harbor, down in front; priests, and +ladies with sparkling diamonds; a bishop +wearing a purple vestment under his black +gown sat to one side; a stout lady in +decollete waved a feather fan in rhythmic, +mystic motion, far back to the left.</p> + +<p>The audience applauded encouragingly, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page86" id="page86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +I wished I was back in that dear East +Aurora. But I began.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes my heart ceased to +thump and I knew we were off.</p> + +<p>I spoke for two hours, and I spoke well. +</p><p>I did not push the lecture in front of +me, nor did I drag it behind. I got the +chancery twist on it and carried it off +big, as I do about one time in ten. I +finished in a whirlwind of applause, with +the bishop crying “Bravo!” and the fat +lady with the fifty-dollar feather fan +beaming approbation.</p> + +<p>Fass stood in the wings to congratulate +me.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>I shook hands with a hundred. The house +slowly emptied. I bade the genial Fass +good-by. He took my hand in both of +his. “You will come back! You must come +back!” he said.</p> + +<p>He walked with me, bareheaded, to my +carriage.</p> + +<p>He again pressed my hand.</p> + +<p>I rode to my hotel and went to bed, +and to sleep.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page87" id="page87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +I was awakened by a bright glare of light +that filled my room.</p> + +<p>I got up and looked +at my watch. It was just midnight.</p> + +<p>Off to the East I saw red tongues of angry +flame streaking the sky from horizon to +zenith.</p> + +<p>“It is the Jewish Club, all right,” I said. +</p> + +<p>I pulled down the blind and went back +to bed.</p> + +<p>When I went down to breakfast at +seven o’clock in the morning, I heard +the newsboys in the streets crying, “All +about the fire!” I bought a paper and +read the headline, “Hubbard’s Lecture +Hot Stuff!”</p> + +<p>I walked out Saint Charles Avenue and +viewed the smoldering ruins where only a +few hours before I had spoken to more than +two thousand people—where the bishop +in purple vestment had cried “Bravo!” +and the stout lady with feathered fan +had beamed approval.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page88" id="page88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +“Was anybody hurt?” I asked one of +the policemen on guard.</p> + +<p>“Only one man killed—Fass, the Secretary; +I believe he lies somewhere over there +to the left, beneath that toppled wall.”</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page90" id="page90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +The person who reasons from a false +premise is always funny—to other folks.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page91" id="page91">[Pg 91]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>Uncle Joe and Aunt Melinda</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>The opinion prevails all +through the truly rural +districts that the big +cities are for the most +part given over to Confidence +Men.</p> + +<p>And the strange part +is that the opinion is +correct.</p> + +<p>But it should not be assumed that all the +people in, say, Buffalo, are moral derelicts—there +are many visitors there, most of +the time, from other sections.</p> + +<p>And while at all times one should exercise +caution, yet to assume that the party who +is “fresh” is intent on high crimes and +misdemeanors may be a rather hasty and +unjust generalization.</p> + +<p>For instance, there are Uncle Joe and +Aunt Melinda, who live eight miles back +from East Aurora, at Wales Hollow. They +had been married for forty-seven years, +and had never taken a wedding-journey. +They decided to go to Buffalo and spend +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page92" id="page92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +two days at a hotel regardless of expense. +</p><p>Much had been told them about the +Confidence Men who hang around the +railroad-station, and they were prepared. +</p><p>They arrived at East Aurora, where +they were to take the train, an hour ahead +of time. The Jerkwater came in and +they were duly seated, when all at once +Uncle Joe rushed for the door, jumped +off and made for the waiting-room looking +for his carpetbag. It was on the train all +right, but he just forgot, and feeling sure +he had left it in the station made the +grand skirmish as aforesaid.</p> + +<p>The result was that the train went off +and left your Uncle Joseph.</p> + +<p>Aunt Melinda was much exercised, but +the train-hands pacified her by assurances +that her husband would follow on the next +train, and she should simply wait for him +in the depot at Buffalo.</p> + +<p>Now the Flyer was right behind the Jerkwater, +and Uncle Joe took the Flyer and +got to Buffalo first. When the Jerkwater +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page93" id="page93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +came in, Uncle Joe was on the platform +waiting for Aunt Melinda.</p> + +<p>As she disembarked he approached her.</p> + +<p>She shied and passed on.</p> + +<p>He persisted in his attentions.</p> + +<p>Then it was that she shook her umbrella +at him and bade him hike. The eternally +feminine in her nature prompted self-preservation. +She banked on her reason—woman’s +reason—not her intuition. She +had started first—her husband could only +come on a later train.</p> + +<p>“Go ’way and leave me alone,” she +shouted in shrill falsetto. “You have got +yourself up to look like my Joe—and +that idiotic grin on your homely face is +just like my Joe, but no city sharper can +fool me, and if you don’t go right along +I’ll call for the perlice!”</p> + +<p>She called for the police, and Uncle Joe +had to show a strawberry-mark to prove +his identity, before he received recognition.</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page96" id="page96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +To be your brother’s keeper is beautiful +if you do not cease to be his friend.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page97" id="page97">[Pg 97]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>Billy and the Book</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>One day last Winter in +New York I attended +a police court on a +side street, just off +lower Broadway. I was +waiting to see my old +friend Rosenfeld in the +Equitable Life Building, +but as his office +didn’t open up until nine o’clock, I put +in my time at the police court.</p> + +<p>There was the usual assortment of drunks, +petty thieves—male and female, black, +white and coffee-colored—disorderlies, +vagabonds and a man in full-dress suit +and a wide expanse of dull ecru shirt-bosom.</p> + +<p>The place was stuffy, foul-smelling, and +reeked with a stale combination of tobacco +and beer and patchouli, and tears, curses, +fear and promises unkept.</p> + +<p>The Judge turned things off, but without +haste. He showed more patience and +consideration than one usually sees on +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page98" id="page98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +the bench. His judgments seemed to be +gentle and just.</p> + +<p>The courtroom was clearing, and I started +to go.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>As I was passing down the icy steps a +piping child’s voice called to me, “Mister, +please give me a lift!”</p> + +<p>There at the foot of the steps, standing +in the snow, was a slender slip of a girl, +yellow and earnest, say ten years old, +with a shawl pinned over her head. She +held in her hand a rope, and this rope +was tied to a hand-sled. On this sled +sat a little boy, shivering, dumpy and +depressed, his bare red hands clutching +the seat.</p> + +<p>“Mister, I say, please give me a lift!”</p> + +<p>“Sure!” I said.</p> + +<p>It was a funny sight.</p> + +<p>This girl seemed absolutely unconscious +of herself. She was not at all abashed, and +very much in earnest about something.</p> + +<p>Evidently she had watched the people +coming out and had waited until one +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page99" id="page99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +appeared that she thought safe to call +on for help.</p> + +<p>“Of course I’ll give you a lift—what is +it you want me to do?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got to go inside and see the Judge. +It’s about my brudder here. He is six, +goin’ on seven, and they sent him home +from school ’cause they said he wasn’t +old enough. I’m going to have that teacher +’rested. I’ve got the Bible here that says +he’s six years old. If you’ll carry the book +I’ll bring Billy and the sled!”</p> + +<p>“Where is the Bible?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Billy’s settin’ on it.”</p> + +<p>It was a big, +black, greasy Family Bible, evidently a +relic of better days. It had probably been +hidden under the bed for safety.</p> + +<p>The girl grappled the sled with one hand, +and with the other Billy’s little red fist.</p> + +<p>I followed, carrying the big, black, greasy +Family Bible.</p> + +<p>Evidently this girl had been here before. +She walked around the end of the judicial +bar, and laid down the sled. Then she took +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page100" id="page100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +the Bible out of my hands. It was about +all she could do to lift it.</p> + +<p>In a shrill, piping voice, full of business, +and very much in earnest, she addressed +the Judge: “I say, Mister Judge, they +sent my brudder Billy away from school, +they did. He’s six, goin’ on seven, and I +want that teacher ’rested and brought here +so you can tell her to let Billy go to school. +Here is our Family Bible—you can see for +yourself how old Billy is!”</p> + +<p>The Judge adjusted his glasses, stared, +and exclaimed, “God bless my soul!”</p> + +<p>Then he called a big, blue-coated officer +over and said: “Mike, you go with this +little girl and her brother, and tell that +teacher, if possible, to allow the boy to +go to school; that I say he is old enough. +You understand! If you do not succeed, +come back and tell me why.”</p> + +<p>The officer smiled and saluted.</p> + +<p>The big policeman took the little boy in +his arms. The girl carried the sled, and +I followed with the Family Bible.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page101" id="page101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +The officer looked at me—“Newspaper +man, I s’pose?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” I said.</p> + +<p>“What paper?”</p> + +<p>“The American.”</p> + +<p>“It’s the best ever.”</p> + +<p>“I think so—possibly with a few exceptions.”</p> + +<p>“She’s the queerest lot yet, is this kid,” +and the big bluecoat jerked his thumb +toward the girl.</p><p>I suggested that we go +to the restaurant across the way and get +a bite of something to eat.</p> + +<p>“I’m not hungry,” said the officer, “but +the youngsters look as if they hadn’t et +since day before yesterday.”</p> + +<p>We lined up at the counter.</p> + +<p>The officer drank two cups of coffee and +ate a ham sandwich, two hard-boiled eggs, +a plate of cakes and a piece of pie.</p> + +<p>The girl and her brother each had a plate +of cakes, a piece of pie and a glass of milk.</p> + +<p>“What’s yours?” asked the waiter.</p> + +<p>“Same,” said I.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page102" id="page102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +As I did not care for the cakes, the officer +cleaned the plate for me.</p> + +<p>I didn’t have time to go to the school, +but the officer assured me that he would +“fix it,” and he winked knowingly, as if +he had looked after such things before. +He was kind, but determined, and I had +confidence he would see that the little +boy was duly admitted.</p> + +<p>I started up the street alone.</p> + +<p>They went the other way. The officer +carried the little boy.</p> + +<p>The girl with the shawl over her head +followed, pulling the hand-sled, and on the +sled rested the big, black Family Bible. I +lost sight of them as they turned the corner.</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page104" id="page104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +An act is only a crystallized thought.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page105" id="page105">[Pg 105]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>John the Baptist and Salome</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>John the Baptist, the +strong, fine youth, came +up out of the wilderness +crying in the streets +of Jerusalem, “Repent +ye! Repent ye!”</p> + +<p>Salome heard the call +and from her window +looked with half-closed, +catlike eyes upon the semi-naked, young +fanatic.</p> + +<p>She smiled, did this idle creature of +luxury, as she lay there amid the cushions +on her couch, and gazed through the +casement upon the preacher in the street. +</p> + +<p>Suddenly a thought came to her.</p> + +<p>She arose on her elbow—she called her slaves.</p> + +<p>They clothed her in a gaudy gown, +dressed her hair, and led her forth.</p> + +<p>Salome followed the wild, weird, religious +enthusiast.</p> + +<p>She pushed through the crowd and placed +herself near the man, so the smell of her +body would reach his nostrils.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page106" id="page106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +His eyes ranged the swelling lines of her +body.</p> + +<p>Their eyes met.</p> + +<p>She half-smiled and gave him that look +which had snared the soul of many +another.</p> + +<p>But he only gazed at her with passionless, +judging intensity and repeated his cry, +“Repent ye. Repent ye, for the day is +at hand!”</p> + +<p>Her reply, uttered soft and low, was +this: “I would kiss thy lips!”</p> + +<p>He moved away and she reached to +seize his garment, repeating, “I would +kiss thy lips—I would kiss thy lips!”</p> + +<p>He turned aside, and forgot her, as +he continued his warning cry, and went +his way.</p> + +<p>The next day she waylaid the youth +again; as he came near she suddenly +and softly stepped forth and said in +that same low, purring voice, “I would +kiss thy lips!”</p> + +<p>He repulsed her with scorn.</p> + +<p>She threw her arms about him and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page107" id="page107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +sought to draw his head down near hers. +</p><p>He pushed her from him with sinewy +hands, sprang as from a pestilence, and +was lost in the pressing throng.</p> + +<p>That night she danced before Herod +Antipas, and when the promise was +recalled that she should have anything +she wished, she named the head of the +only man who had ever turned away +from her. “The head of John the Baptist +on a charger!”</p> + +<p>In an hour the wish was gratified.</p> + +<p>Two eunuchs stood before Salome with +a silver tray bearing its fearsome burden. +</p><p>The woman smiled—a smile of triumph, +as she stepped forth with tinkling feet.</p> + +<p>A look of pride came over the painted face. +</p><p>Her jeweled fingers reached into the +blood-matted hair. She lifted the head +aloft, and the bracelets on her brown, +bare arms fell to her shoulders, making +strange music. Her face pressed the face +of the dead.</p> + +<p>In exultation she exclaimed, +“I have kissed thy lips!”</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page110" id="page110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +He who influences the thought of his +time influences the thought of all the +time that follows. And he has made his +impress upon eternity.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page111" id="page111">[Pg 111]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>The Master</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>Giovanni Bellini was his name.</p> + +<p>Yet when people who loved +beautiful pictures spoke +of “Gian,” every one +knew who was meant; +but to those who worked +at art he was “The +Master.” He was two +inches under six feet in height, strong +and muscular. In spite of his seventy +summers his carriage was erect, and +there was a jaunty suppleness about his +gait that made him seem much younger. +In fact, no one would have believed +he had lived over his threescore and +ten, were it not for the iron-gray hair +that fluffed out all around under the +close-fitting black cap, and the bronzed +complexion—sun-kissed by wind and by +weather—which formed a trinity of opposites +that made people turn and stare. +</p><p>Queer stories used to be told about +him. He was a skilful gondolier, and it +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page112" id="page112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +was the daily row back and forth from +the Lido that gave him that face of +bronze. Folks said he ate no meat and +drank no wine, and that his food was +simply ripe figs in the season, with coarse +rye bread and nuts.</p> + +<p>Then there was that funny old hunchback, +a hundred years old at least, and +stone-deaf, who took care of the gondola, +spending the whole day, waiting for his +master, washing the trim, graceful, blue-black +boat, arranging the awning with the +white cords and tassels, and polishing the +little brass lions at the sides. People tried +to question the old hunchback, but he +gave no secrets away. The master always +stood up behind and rowed; while down +on the cushions rode the hunchback, the +guest of honor.</p> + +<p>There stood the master erect, plying +the oar, his long black robe tucked up +under the dark blue sash that exactly +matched the color of the gondola. The +man’s motto might have been, “Ich +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page113" id="page113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +Dien,” or that passage of Scripture, +“He that is greatest among you shall +be your servant.” Suspended around his +neck by a slender chain was a bronze +medal, presented by vote of the Signoria +when the great picture of “The Transfiguration” +was unveiled. If this medal +had been a crucifix, and you had met +the wearer in San Marco, one glance +at the finely chiseled features, the black +cap and the flowing robe and you would +have said at once the man was a priest, +Vicar-General of some important diocese. +But seeing him standing erect on the stern +of a gondola, the wind caressing the dark +gray hair, you would have been perplexed +until your gondolier explained in serious +undertone that you had just passed “the +greatest Painter in all Venice, Gian, the +Master.”</p> + +<p>Then, if you showed curiosity and wanted +to know further, the gondolier would have +told you more about this strange man. +</p><p>The canals of Venice are the highways, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page114" id="page114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +and the gondoliers are like ’bus-drivers +in Piccadilly—they know everybody and +are in close touch with all the Secrets of +State. When you get to the Gindecca and +tie up for lunch, over a bottle of Chianti, +your gondolier will tell you this:</p> + +<p>The hunchback there in the gondola, +rowed by the Master, is the Devil, who +has taken that form just to be with and +guard the greatest artist the world has +ever seen. Yes, Signor, that clean-faced +man with his frank, wide-open, brown +eyes is in league with the Evil One. He +is the man who took young Tiziano from +Cadore into his shop, right out of a glass-factory, +and made him a great artist, +getting him commissions and introducing +him everywhere! And how about the +divine Giorgione who called him father? +Oho!</p> + +<p>And who is Giorgione? The son of some +unknown peasant woman. And if Bellini +wanted to adopt him, treat him as his +son indeed, kissing him on the cheek +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page115" id="page115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +when he came back just from a day’s +visit to Mestre, whose business was it! +Oho!</p> + +<p>Beside that, his name isn’t Giorgione—it +is Giorgio Barbarelli. And didn’t +this Giorgio Barbarelli, and Tiziano from +Cadore, and Espero Carbonne, and that +Gustavo from Nuremberg, and the others +paint most of Gian’s pictures? Surely they +did. The old man simply washes in the +backgrounds and the boys do the work. +About all old Gian does is to sign the +picture, sell it and pocket the proceeds. +Carpaccio helps him, too—Carpaccio who +painted the loveliest little angel sitting +cross-legged playing the biggest mandolin +you ever saw in your life.</p> + +<p>That is genius, you know, the ability to +get some one else to do the work, and +then capture the ducats and the honors +for yourself. Of course, Gian knows how +to lure the boys on—something has to be +done in order to hold them. Gian buys a +picture from them now and then; his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page116" id="page116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +studio is full of their work—better than +he can do. Oh, he knows a good thing +when he sees it. These pictures will be +valuable some day, and he gets them at +his own price. It was Antonello of Messina +who introduced oil-painting into Venice. +Before that they mixed their paints +with water, milk or wine. But when +Antonello came along with his dark, +lustrous pictures, he set all artistic Venice +astir. Gian Bellini discovered the secret, +they say, by feigning to be a gentleman +and going to the newcomer and sitting +for his picture. He it was who discovered +that Antonello mixed his colors with oil. +Oho!</p> + +<p>Of course, not all of the pictures in +his studio are painted by the boys: +some are painted by that old Dutchman +what’s-his-name—oh, yes, Durer, Alberto +Durer of Nuremberg. Two Nuremberg +painters were in that very gondola last +week just where you sit—they are here +in Venice now, taking lessons from Gian, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page117" id="page117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +they said. Gian was up there to Nuremberg +and lived a month with Durer—they +worked together, drank beer together, I +suppose, and caroused. Gian is very strict +about what he does in Venice, but you +can never tell what a man will do when +he is away from home. The Germans +are a roystering lot—but they do say +they can paint. Me? I have never been +up there—and do not want to go, either—there +are no canals there. To be sure, +they print books in Nuremberg. It was +up there somewhere that they invented +type, a lazy scheme to do away with +writing. They are a thrifty lot—those +Germans—they give me my fare and a +penny more, just a single penny, and +no matter how much I have talked and +pointed out the wonderful sights, and +imparted useful information, known to +me alone—only one penny extra—think +of it!</p> + +<p>Yes, printing was first done at Mayence +by a German, Gutenberg, about sixty +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page118" id="page118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +years ago. One of Gutenberg’s workmen +went up to Nuremberg and taught others +how to design and cast type. This man, +Alberto Durer, helped them, designing +the initials and making their title-pages +by cutting the design on a wood block, +then covering this block with ink, laying +a sheet of paper upon it, placing it in +a press, and then when the paper is +lifted off it looks exactly like the original +drawing. In fact, most people couldn’t +tell the difference, and here you can +print thousands of them from the one +block.</p> + +<p>Bellini makes drawings for title-pages and +initials for Aldus and Nicholas Jenson. +Venice is the greatest printing place in +the world, and yet the business began +here only thirty years ago. The first book +printed here was in Fourteen Hundred +Sixty-nine, by John of Speyer. There +are two hundred licensed printing-presses +here, and it takes usually four men to +a press—two to set the type and get +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page119" id="page119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +things ready, and two to run the press. +This does not count, of course, the men +who write the books, and those who +make the type and cut the blocks from +which they print the pictures for the +illustrations. At first, you know, the books +they printed in Venice had no title-pages, +initials or illustrations. My father was +a printer and he remembers when the +first large initials were printed—before +that the spaces were left blank and the +books were sent out to the monasteries +to be completed by hand.</p> + +<p>Gian and Gentile had a good deal to +do about cutting the first blocks for +initials—they got the idea, I think, from +Nuremberg. And now there are Dutchmen +down here from Amsterdam learning how +to print books and paint pictures. Several +of them are in Gian’s studio, I hear—every +once in a while I get them for a +trip to the Lido or to Murano.</p> + +<p>Gentile Bellini is his brother and looks +very much like him. The Grand Turk +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page120" id="page120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +at Constantinople came here once and +saw Gian Bellini at work in the Great +Hall. He had never seen a good picture +before and was amazed. He wanted the +Senate to sell Gian to him, thinking he +was a slave. They humored the Pagan +by hiring Gentile Bellini to go instead, +loaning him out for two years, so to speak. +</p><p>Gentile went, and the Sultan, who +never allowed any one to stand before +him, all having to grovel in the dirt, +treated Gentile as an equal. Gentile +even taught the old rogue to draw a +little, and they say the painter had a +key to every room in the palace, and +was treated like a prince.</p> + +<p>Well, they got along all right, until +one day Gentile drew the picture of +the head of John the Baptist on a charger. +</p><p>“A man’s head doesn’t look like that +when it is cut off,” said the Grand Turk +contemptuously. Gentile had forgotten +that the Turk was on familiar ground. +</p><p>“Perhaps the Light of the Sun knows +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page121" id="page121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +more about painting than I do!” said +Gentile, as he kept right on at his work. +</p><p>“I may not know much about painting, +but I’m no fool in some other things I +might name,” was the reply.</p> + +<p>The Sultan clapped his hands three +times: two slaves appeared from opposite +doors. One was a little ahead of the other, +and as this one approached, the Sultan +with a single swing of the snickersnee +snipped off his head. This teaches us +that obedience to our superiors is its +own reward. But the lesson was wholly +lost on Gentile Bellini, for he did not +even remain to examine the severed head +for art’s sake. The thought that it might +be his turn next was supreme, and he +leaped through a window, taking the +sash with him. Making his way to the +docks he found a sailing vessel loading +with fruit, bound for Venice. A small +purse of gold made the matter easy: +the captain of the boat secreted him, +and in four days he was safely back +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page122" id="page122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +in Saint Mark’s giving thanks to God +for his deliverance.</p> + +<p>No, I didn’t say Gian was a rogue—I +only told you what others say. I am +only a poor gondolier—why should I +trouble myself about what great folks +do? I simply tell you what I hear—it +may be so, and it may not. God knows! +There is that Pascale Salvini—he has a +rival studio—and when that Genoese, +Christoforo Colombo, was here and made +his stopping-place at Bellini’s studio, +Pascale told every one that Colombo was +a lunatic, and Bellini another, for encouraging +him to show his foolish maps and +charts. Now, they do say that Colombo has +discovered a new world, and Italians are +feeling troubled in conscience because they +did not fit him out with ships instead of +forcing him to go to Spain.</p> + +<p>No, I didn’t say Bellini was a hypocrite—Pascale’s +pupils say so, and once they +followed him over to Murano—three +barca-loads and my gondola beside. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page123" id="page123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +You see it was like this: Twice a week +just after sundown, we used to see Gian +Bellini untie his boat from the landing +there behind the Doge’s palace, turn the +prow, and beat out for Murano, with no +companion but that deaf old caretaker. +Twice a week, Tuesdays and Fridays—always +at just the same hour, regardless +of the weather—we would see the old +hunchback light the lamps, and in a few +moments the Master would appear, tuck +up his black robe, step into the boat, take +the oar and away they would go. It was +always to Murano, and always to the +same landing—one of our gondoliers had +followed them several times, just out of +curiosity.</p> + +<p>Finally it came to the ears of Pascale that +Gian took this regular trip to Murano. +“It is a rendezvous,” said Pascale. “It +is worse than that: an orgy among those +lacemakers and the rogues of the glassworks. +Oh, to think that Gian should +stoop to such things at his age—his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page124" id="page124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +pretended asceticism is but a mask—and +at his age!”</p> + +<p>The Pascale students took it up, and +once came in collision with that Tiziano +of Cadore, who they say broke a boat-hook +over the head of one of them who had +spoken ill of the Master.</p> + +<p>But this did not silence the talk, and +one dark night, when the air was full +of flying mist, one of Pascale’s students +came to me and told me that he wanted +me to take a party over to Murano. The +weather was so bad that I refused to go—the +wind blew in gusts, sheet lightning +filled the Eastern sky, and all honest men, +but poor belated gondoliers, had hied +them home.</p> + +<p>I refused to go.</p> + +<p>Had I not seen Gian the painter go not +half an hour before? Well, if he could +go, others could too.</p> + +<p>I refused to go—except for double fare. +</p><p>He accepted and placed the double fare +in silver in my palm. Then he gave a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page125" id="page125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +whistle and from behind the corners came +trooping enough swashbuckler students +to swamp my gondola. I let in just enough +to fill the seats and pushed off, leaving +several standing on the stone steps cursing +me and everything and everybody.</p> + +<p>As my boat slid away in the fog and +headed on our course, I glanced back +and saw the three barca-loads following +in my wake.</p> + +<p>There was much muffled talk, and orders +from some one in charge to keep silence. +But there was passing of strong drink, +and then talk, and from it I gathered +that these were all students from Pascale’s, +out on one of those student carousals, +intent on heaven knows what! It was +none of my business.</p> + +<p>We shipped considerable water, and some +of the students were down on their knees +praying and bailing, bailing and praying. +</p><p>At last we reached the Murano landing. +All got out, the barcas tied up, and I tied +up, too, determined to see what was doing. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page126" id="page126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +The strong drink was passed, and a low, +heavy-set fellow who seemed to be captain +charged all not to speak, but to follow +him and do as he did.</p> + +<p>We took a side street where there was +little travel and followed through the dark +and dripping way, fully a half-mile, down +there in that end of the island called the +sailors’ broglio, where they say no man’s +life is safe if he has a silver coin or two. +There was much music in the wine-shops +and shouts of mirth and dancing feet on +stone floors, but the rain had driven +every one from the streets.</p> + +<p>We came to a long, low, stone building +that used to be a theater, but was now +a dance-hall upstairs and a warehouse +below. There were lights upstairs and +sounds of music. The stairway was dark, +but we felt our way up and on tiptoe +advanced to the big double door, from +under which the light streamed.</p> + +<p>We had received our orders, and when +we got to the landing we stood there +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page127" id="page127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +just an instant. “Now we have him—Gian +the hypocrite!” whispered the stout +man in a hoarse breath. We burst in the +doors with a whoop and a bang. The +change from the dark to the light sort +of blinded us at first. We all supposed +that there was a dance in progress of +course, and the screams from women +were just what we expected; but when +we saw several overturned easels and an +old man, half-nude, and too scared to +move, seated on a model throne, we did +not advance into the hall as we intended. +That one yell we gave was all the noise +we made. We stood there in a bunch, +just inside the door, sort of dazed and +uncertain. We did not know whether to +retreat, or charge on through the hall +as we had intended. We just stood there +like a lot of driveling fools.</p> + +<p>“Keep right at your work, my good +people. Keep right at your work!” called +a pleasant voice. “I see we have some +visitors.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page128" id="page128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +And Gian Bellini came forward. His robe +was still tucked up under the blue sash, +but he had laid aside his black cap, and +his tumbled gray hair looked like the +aureole of a saint. “Keep right at your +work,” he said again, and then came +forward and bade us welcome and begged +us to have seats.</p> + +<p>I dared not run away, so I sat down on +one of the long seats that were ranged +around the wall. My companions did the +same. There must have been fifty easels, +all ranged in a semicircle around the old +man who posed as a model. Several of +the easels had been upset, and there was +much confusion when we entered.</p> + +<p>“Just help us to arrange things—that is +right, thank you,” said Gian to the stout +man who was captain of our party. To +my astonishment the stout man was doing +just as he was bid, and was pacifying the +women students and straightening up +their easels and stools.</p> + +<p>I was interested in watching Gian walking +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page129" id="page129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +around, helping this one with a stroke of +his crayon, saying a word to that, smiling +and nodding to another. I just sat there +and stared. These students were not +regular art students, I could see that +plainly. Some were children, ragged and +barelegged, others were old men who +worked in the glass-factories, and surely +with hands too old and stiff to ever paint +well. Still others were women and young +girls of the town. I rubbed my eyes +and tried to make it out!</p> + +<p>The music we heard I could still hear—it +came from the wine-shop across the +way. I looked around and what do you +believe? My companions had all gone. +They had sneaked out one by one and +left me alone.</p> + +<p>I watched my chance and when the +Master’s back was turned I tiptoed out, +too.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>When I got down on the street I found +I had left my cap, but I dared not go back +after it. I made my way down to the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page130" id="page130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +landing, half running, and when I got +there not a boat was to be seen—the +three barcas and my gondola were gone.</p> + +<p>I thought I could see them, out through +the mist, a quarter of a mile away. I called +aloud, but no answer came back but the +hissing wind. I was in despair—they were +stealing my boat, and if they did not steal +it, it would surely be wrecked—my all, +my precious boat!</p> + +<p>I cried and wrung my hands. I prayed! +And the howling winds only ran shrieking +and laughing around the corners of the +building.</p> + +<p>I saw a glimmering light down the beach +at a little landing. I ran to it, hoping some +gondolier might be found who would row +me over to the city. There was one boat +at the landing and in it a hunchback, +sound asleep, covered with a canvas. It +was Gian Bellini’s boat. I shook the +hunchback into wakefulness and begged +him to row me across to the city. I yelled +into his deaf ears, but he pretended not +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page131" id="page131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +to understand me. Then I showed him +the silver coin—the double fare—and +tried to place it in his hand. But no, +he only shook his head.</p> + +<p>I ran up the beach, still looking for a +boat.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>An hour had passed.</p> + +<p>I got back to the landing just as Gian +came down to his boat.</p> + +<p>I approached him and explained that +I was a poor worker in the glass-factory, +who had to work all day and +half the night, and as I lived over in +the city and my wife was dying, I must +get home. Would he allow me to ride +with His Highness? “Certainly—with +pleasure, with pleasure!” he answered, +and then pulling something from under +his sash he said, “Is this your cap, +Signor?” I took my cap, but my tongue +was paralyzed for the moment so I could +not thank him.</p> + +<p>The wind had died down, the rain had +ceased, and from between the blue-black +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page132" id="page132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +clouds the moon shone out. Gian rowed +with a strong, fine stroke, singing a “Te +Deum Laudamus” softly to himself the +while.</p> + +<p>I lay there and wept, thinking of my +boat, my all, my precious boat!</p> + +<p>We reached the landing—and there was +my boat, safely tied up, not a cushion +nor a cord missing.</p> + +<p>Gian Bellini? He may be a rogue as +Pascale Salvini says—God knows! How +can I tell—I am only a poor gondolier!</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page133" id="page133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +So here then endeth the Volume entitled +“The Mintage,” the same being Ten +Stories and One More written by Elbert +Hubbard. The whole done into a printed +book by The Roycrofters at their Shop, +which is in the Village of East Aurora, +Erie County, New York State, this year +of Grace mcmx and from the founding +of The Roycroft Shop the Sixteenth.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mintage, by Elbert Hubbard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MINTAGE *** + +***** This file should be named 17504-h.htm or 17504-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/5/0/17504/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Mintage + +Author: Elbert Hubbard + +Release Date: January 12, 2006 [EBook #17504] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MINTAGE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +'Tis here you'll find the mintage of my mind.--_Goethe._ + + ------------------------------------- + + [Illustration: Elbert Hubbard] + + Elbert Hubbard + + +The Mintage +Being Ten Stories & One More +By Elbert Hubbard + +Copyright 1910 +Elbert Hubbard + + + + +CONTENTS + +FIVE BABIES +TO THE WEST +SIMEON STYLITES THE SYRIAN +BATTLE OF THE LITTLE BIG HORN +SAM +CLEOPATRA AND CAESAR +A SPECIAL OCCASION +UNCLE JOE AND AUNT MELINDA +BILLY AND THE BOOK +JOHN THE BAPTIST AND SALOME +THE MASTER + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + All success consists in this: you are doing something + for somebody--are benefiting humanity; and the feeling + of success comes from the consciousness of this. + + + FIVE BABIES + + +Riding on the Grand Trunk Railway a few weeks ago, going from +Suspension Bridge to Chicago, I saw a sight so trivial that it seems +unworthy of mention. Yet for three weeks I have remembered it, and so +now I'll relate it, in order to get rid of it. + +And possibly these little incidents of life are the items that make or +mar existence. + +But here is what I saw on that railroad train: five children, the +oldest a girl of ten, and the youngest a baby boy of three. They were +traveling alone and had come from Germany, duly tagged, ticketed and +certified. + +They were going to their Grandmother at Waukegan, Illinois. + +The old lady was to meet them in Chicago. + +The children spoke not a word of English, but there is a universal +language of the heart that speaks and is understood. So the trainmen +and the children were on very chummy terms. + +Now, at London, Ontario, our train waited an hour for the Toronto and +Montreal connections. + +Just before we reached London, I saw the Conductor take the three +smallest little passengers to the washroom at the end of the car, roll +up their sleeves, turn their collars in, and duly wash their hands and +faces. Then he combed their hair. They accepted the situation as if +they belonged to the Conductor's family, as of course they did for the +time being. It was a domestic scene that caused the whole car to +smile, and made everybody know everybody else. A touch of nature makes +a whole coach kin. + +The children had a bushel-basket full of eatables, but at London that +Conductor took the whole brood over to the dining-hall for supper, and +I saw two fat men scrap as to who should have the privilege of paying +for the kiddies' suppers. The children munched and smiled and said +little things to each other in Teutonic whispers. + +After our train left London and the Conductor had taken up his +tickets, he came back, turned over two seats and placed the cushions +lengthwise. One of the trainmen borrowed a couple of blankets from the +sleeping-cars, and with the help of three volunteered overcoats, the +babies were all put to bed, and duly tucked in. + +I went back to my Pullman, and went to bed. And as I dozed off I kept +wondering whether the Grandmother would be there in the morning to +meet the little travelers. What sort of disaster had deprived them of +parents, I did not know, nor did I care to ask. The children were +alone, but among friends. They were strong and well, but they kept +very close together and looked to the oldest girl as a mother. + +But to be alone in Chicago would be terrible! Would she come! + +And so I slept. In the morning there was another Conductor in charge, +a man I had not before seen. I went into the day-coach, thinking that +the man might not know about the babies, and that I might possibly +help the little immigrants. But my services were not needed. The +ten-year-old "little other mother" had freshened up her family, and the +Conductor was assuring them, in awfully bad German, that their +Grandmother would be there--although, of course, he didn't know +anything at all about it. + +When the train pulled into the long depot and stopped, the Conductor +took the baby boy on one arm and a little girl on the other. + +A porter carried the big lunch-basket, and the little other mother led +a toddler on each side, dodging the hurrying passengers. + +Evidently I was the only spectator of the play. + + ------------------------------------- + +"Will she be there--will she be there?" I asked myself nervously. + +She was there, all right, there at the gate. The Conductor was +seemingly as gratified as I. He turned his charges over to the old +woman, who was weeping for joy, and hugging the children between +bursts of lavish, loving Deutsch. + +I climbed into a Parmelee bus and said, "Auditorium Annex, please." + +And as I sat there in the bus, while they were packing the grips on +top, the Conductor passed by, carrying a tin box in one hand and his +train cap in the other. + +I saw an Elk's tooth on his watch-chain. + +I called to him, "I saw you help the babies--good boy!" + +He looked at me in doubt. + +"Those German children," I said; "I'm glad you were so kind to them!" + +"Oh," he answered, smiling; "yes, I had forgotten; why, of course, +that is a railroad man's business, you know--to help everybody who +needs help." + +He waved his hand and disappeared up the stairway that led to the +offices. + +And it came to me that he had forgotten the incident so soon, simply +because to help had become the habit of his life. He may read this, +and he may not. There he was--big, bold, bluff and bronzed, his hair +just touched with the frost of years, and beneath his brass buttons a +heart beating with a desire to bless and benefit. I do not know his +name, but the sight of the man, carrying a child on each arm, their +arms encircling his neck in perfect faith, their long journey done, +and he turning them over in safety to their Grandmother, was something +to renew one's faith in humanity. + +Even a great Railway System has a soul. + +If you answer that corporations have no souls, I'll say: "Friend, you +were never more mistaken in your life. The business that has no soul +soon ceases to exist; and the success of a company or corporation +turns on the kind of soul it possesses. Soul is necessary to service. +Courtesy, kindness, honesty and efficiency are tangible soul-assets; +and all good railroad men know it." + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + By taking thought you can add cubits to your stature. + + + TO THE WEST + + +To stand by the open grave of one you have loved, and feel the sky +shut down over less worth in the world is the supreme test. + +There you prove your worth, if ever. + +You must live and face the day, and face each succeeding day, +realizing that "the moving finger writes, and having writ moves on, +nor all your tears shall blot a line of it." + +Heroes are born, but it is calamity that discovers them. + +Once in Western Kansas, in the early Eighties, I saw a loaded +four-horse wagon skid and topple in going across a gully. + +The driver sprang from his seat and tried to hold the wagon upright. + +The weight was too great for his strength, powerful man though he was. + +The horses swerved down the ditch instead of crossing it, and the +overturning wagon caught the man and pinned him to the ground. + +Half a dozen of us sprang from our horses. After much effort the +tangled animals were unhitched and the wagon was righted. + +The man was dead. + +In the wagon were the wife and six children, the oldest child a boy of +fifteen. All were safely caught in the canvas top and escaped unhurt. +We camped there--not knowing what else to do. + +We straightened the mangled form of the dead, and covered the body +with a blanket. + +That night the mother and the oldest boy sat by the campfire and +watched the long night away with their dead. + +The stars marched in solemn procession across the sky. + +The slow, crawling night passed. + +The first faint flush of dawn appeared in the East. + +I lay near the campfire, my head pillowed on a saddle, and heard the +widowed mother and her boy talking in low but earnest tones. + +"We must go back--we must go back to Illinois. It is the only thing to +do," I heard the mother moan. + +And the boy answered: "Mother, listen to what I say: We will go on--we +will go on. We know where father was going to take us--we know what he +was going to do. We will go on, and we will do what he intended to do, +and if possible we will do it better. We will go on!" + +That first burst of pink in the East had turned to gold. + +Great streaks of light stretched from horizon to zenith. + +I could see in the dim and hazy light the hobbled horses grazing +across the plain a quarter of a mile away. + +The boy of fifteen arose and put fuel on the fire. + +After breakfast I saw that boy get a spade, a shovel and a pick out of +the wagon. + +With help of others a grave was dug there on the prairie. + +The dead was rolled in a blanket and tied about with thongs, after the +fashion of the Indians. + +Lines were taken from a harness, and we lowered the body into the +grave. + +The grave was filled up by friendly hands working in nervous haste. + +I saw the boy pat down the mound with the back of a spade. + +I saw him carve with awkward, boyish hands the initials of his father, +the date of his birth and the day of his death. + +I saw him drive the slab down at the head of the grave. + +I saw him harness the four horses. + +I saw him help his little brothers into the canvas-covered wagon. + +I saw him help his mother climb the wheel as she took her place on the +seat. + +I saw him spring up beside her. + +I saw him gather up the lines in his brown, slim hands, and swing the +whip over the leaders, as he gave the shrill word of command and +turned the horses to the West. + +And the cavalcade moved forward to the West--always to the West. + +The boy had met calamity and disaster. He had not flinched. + +In a single day he had left boyhood behind and become a man. + +And the years that followed proved him genuine. + +What was it worked the change? Grief and responsibility, nobly met. + + + + ------------------------------------- + + The church has aureoled and sainted the men and + women who have fought the Cosmic Urge. To do nothing + and to be nothing was regarded as a virtue. + + + SIMEON STYLITES THE SYRIAN + + +The church has aureoled and sainted the men and women who have fought +the Cosmic Urge. To do nothing and to be nothing was regarded as a +virtue. + + + +As the traveler journeys through Southern Italy, Sicily and certain +parts of what was Ancient Greece, he will see broken arches, parts of +viaducts, and now and again a beautiful column pointing to the sky. +All about is the desert, or solitary pastures, and only this white +milestone marking the path of the centuries and telling in its own +silent, solemn and impressive way of a day that is dead. + +In the Fifth Century a monk called Simeon the Syrian, and known to us +as Simeon Stylites, having taken the vow of chastity, poverty and +obedience, began to fear greatly lest he might not be true to his +pledge. And that he might live absolutely beyond reproach, always in +public view, free from temptation, and free from the tongue of +scandal, he decided to live in the world, and still not be of it. To +this end he climbed to the top of a marble column, sixty feet high, +and there on the capstone he began to live a life beyond reproach. + +Simeon was then twenty-four years old. + +The environment was circumscribed, but there were outlook, sunshine, +ventilation--three good things. But beyond these the place had certain +disadvantages. The capstone was a little less than three feet square, +so Simeon could not lie down. He slept sitting, with his head bowed +between his knees, and, indeed, in this posture he passed most of his +time. Any recklessness in movement, and he would have slipped from his +perilous position and been dashed to death upon the stones beneath. + +As the sun arose he stood up, just for a few moments, and held out his +arms in greeting, blessing and in prayer. Three times during the day +did he thus stretch his cramped limbs, and pray with his face to the +East. At such times, those who stood near shared in his prayers, and +went away blessed and refreshed. + +How did Simeon get to the top of the column? + +Well, his companions at the monastery, a mile away, said he was +carried there in the night by a miraculous power; that he went to +sleep in his stone cell and awoke on the pillar. Other monks said that +Simeon had gone to pay his respects to a fair lady, and in wrath God +had caught him and placed him on high. The probabilities are, however, +Terese, as viewed by an unbeliever, that he shot a line over the +column with a bow and arrow and then drew up a rope ladder and +ascended with ease. + +However, in the morning the simple people of the scattered village saw +the man on the column. + +All day he stayed there. + +And the next day he was still there. + +The days passed, with the scorching heat of the midday sun, and the +cool winds of the night. + +Still Simeon kept his place. + +The rainy season came on. When the nights were cold and dark, Simeon +sat there with bowed head, and drew the folds of his single garment, a +black robe, over his face. + +Another season passed; the sun again grew warm, then hot, and the +sandstorms raged and blew, when the people below almost lost sight of +the man on the column. Some prophesied he would be blown off, but the +morning light revealed his form, naked from the waist up, standing +with hands outstretched to greet the rising sun. + +Once each day, as darkness gathered, a monk came with a basket +containing a bottle of goat's milk and a little loaf of black bread, +and Simeon dropped down a rope and drew up the basket. + +Simeon never spoke, for words are folly, and to the calls of saint or +sinner he made no reply. He lived in a perpetual attitude of +adoration. + +Did he suffer? During those first weeks he must have suffered terribly +and horribly. There was no respite nor rest from the hard surface of +the rock, and aching muscles could find no change from the cramped and +perilous position. If he fell, it was damnation for his soul--all were +agreed as to this. + +But man's body and mind accommodate themselves to almost any +condition. One thing at least, Simeon was free from economic +responsibilities, free from social cares and intrusion. Bores with sad +stories of unappreciated lives and fond hopes unrealized, never broke +in upon his peace. He was not pressed for time. No frivolous dame of +tarnished fame sought to share with him his perilous perch. The people +on a slow schedule, ten minutes late, never irritated his temper. His +correspondence never got in a heap. + +Simeon kept no track of the days, having no engagements to meet, nor +offices to perform, beyond the prayers at morn, midday and night. + +Memory died in him, the hurts became callouses, the world-pain died +out of his heart, and to cling became a habit. + +Language was lost in disuse. + +The food he ate was minimum in quantity; sensation ceased, and the +dry, hot winds reduced bodily tissue to a dessicated something called +a saint--loved, feared and reverenced for his fortitude. + +This pillar, which had once graced the portal of a pagan temple, again +became a place of pious pilgrimage, and people flocked to Simeon's +rock, so that they might be near when he stretched out his black, bony +hands to the East, and the spirit of Almighty God, for a space, +hovered close around. + +So much attention did the abnegation of Simeon attract that various +other pillars, marking the ruins of art and greatness gone, in that +vicinity, were crowned with pious monks. The thought of these monks +was to show how Christianity had triumphed over heathenism. Imitators +were numerous. About then the Bishops in assembly asked, "Is Simeon +sincere?" To test the matter of Simeon's pride, he was ordered to come +down from his retreat. + +As to his chastity, there was little doubt, his poverty was beyond +question, but how about obedience to his superiors? + +The order was shouted up to him in a Bishop's voice--he must let down +his rope, draw up a ladder, and descend. + +Straightway Simeon made preparation to obey. And then the Bishops +relented and cried, "We have changed our minds, and now order you to +remain!" + +Simeon lifted his hands in adoration and thankfulness and renewed his +lease. + +And so he lived on and on and on--he lived on the top of that pillar, +never once descending for thirty years. + +All his former companions grew aweary, and one by one died, and the +monastery bells tolled their requiem as they were laid to rest. Did +Simeon hear the bells and say, "Soon it will be my turn"? + +Probably not. His senses had flown, for what good were they! The young +monk who now at eventide brought the basket with the bottle of goat's +milk and the loaf of brown bread was born since Simeon had taken his +place on the pillar. + +"He has always been there," the people said, and crossed themselves +hurriedly. + +But one evening when the young monk came with his basket, no line was +dropped down from above. He waited and then called aloud, but all in +vain. + +When sunrise came, there sat the monk, his face between his knees, the +folds of his black robe drawn over his head. But he did not rise and +lift his hands in prayer. + +All day he sat there, motionless. + +The people watched in whispered silence. Would he arise at sundown and +pray, and with outstretched hands bless the assembled pilgrims? + +And as they watched, a vulture came sailing slowly through the blue +ether, and circled nearer and nearer; and off on the horizon was +another--and still another, circling nearer and ever nearer. + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + I would write across the sky in letters of light this + undisputed truth, proven by every annal of history, + that the only way to help yourself is through loyalty + to those who trust and employ you. + + + BATTLE OF THE LITTLE BIG HORN + + +It was in the Spring of Eighteen Hundred Seventy-six that the Sioux on +the Dakota Reservation became restless, and after various fruitless +efforts to restrain them, moved Westward in a body. + +This periodic migration was a habit and a tradition of the tribe. For +hundreds of years they had visited the buffalo country on an annual +hunt. + +Now the buffaloes were gone, save for a few scattered herds in the +mountains. The Indians did not fully realize this, although they +realized that as the Whites came in, the game went out. The Sioux were +hunters and horsemen by nature. They traveled and moved about with +great freedom. If restrained or interfered with they grew irritable +and then hostile. + +Now they were full of fight. The Whites had ruined the hunting-grounds; +besides that, white soldiers had fought them if they moved to their +old haunts, sacred for their use and bequeathed to them by their +ancestors. In dead of Winter, when the snows lay deep and they were in +their teepees, crouching around the scanty fire, soldiers had charged +on horseback through the villages, shooting into the teepees, killing +women and children. + +At the head of these soldiers was a white chief, whom they called +Yellow Hair. He was a smashing, dashing, fearless soldier who +understood the Indian ways and haunts, and then used this knowledge +for the undoing of the Red Men. + +Yellow Hair wanted to keep them in one little place all the time, and +desired that they should raise corn like cowardly Crows, when what +they wanted was to be free and hunt! + +They feared Yellow Hair--and hated him. + +Custer was a man of intelligence--nervous, energetic, proud. His +honesty and sincerity were beyond dispute. He was a natural Indian +fighter. He could pull his belt one hole tighter and go three whole +days without food. He could ride like the wind, or crawl in the grass, +and knew how to strike, quickly and unexpectedly, as the first streak +of dawn came into the East. Like Napoleon, he knew the value of time, +and, in fact, he had somewhat of the dash and daring, not to mention +the vanity, of the Corsican. His men believed in him and loved him, +for he marched them to victory, and with odds of five to one had won +again and again. + + ------------------------------------- + +But Custer had the defect of his qualities; and to use the Lincoln +phrase, sometimes took counsel of his ambition. + +He had fought in the Civil War in places where no prisoners were +taken, and where there was no commissary. And this wild, free life had +bred in him a habit of unrest--a chafing at discipline and all rules of +modern warfare. + +Results were the only things he cared for, and power was his Deity. + +When the Indians grew restless in the Spring of Seventy-six, Custer +was called to Washington for consultation. President Grant was not +satisfied with our Indian policy--he thought that in some ways the +Whites were the real savages. The Indians he considered as children, +not as criminals. + +Custer tried to tell him differently. Custer knew the bloodthirsty +character of the Sioux, their treachery and cunning--he showed scars by +way of proof! + +The authorities at Washington needed Custer. However, his view of the +case did not mean theirs. Custer believed in the mailed hand, and if +given the power he declared he would settle the Indian Question in +America once and forever. His confidence and assumption and what +Senator Dawes called swagger were not to their liking. Anyway, Custer +was attracting altogether too much attention--the people followed him +on Pennsylvania Avenue whenever he appeared. + +General Terry was chosen to head the expedition against the hostile +Sioux, and Custer was to go as second in command. + +Terry was older than Custer, but Custer had seen more service on the +plains. Custer demurred--threatened to resign--and wrote a note to the +President asking for a personal interview and requesting a review of +the situation. + +President Grant refused to see Custer, and reminded him that the first +duty of a soldier was obedience. + +Custer left Washington, glum and sullen--grieved. But he was a soldier, +and so he reported at Fort Lincoln, as ordered, to serve under a man +who knew less about Indian fighting than did he. + +The force of a thousand men embarked on six boats at Bismarck. There a +banquet was given in honor of Terry and Custer. "You will hear from us +by courier before July Fourth," said Custer. + +He was still moody and depressed, but declared his willingness to do +his duty. + +Terry did not like his attitude and told him so. Poor Custer was stung +by the reprimand. + +He was only a boy, thirty-seven years old, to be sure, but with the +whimsical, daring, ambitious and jealous quality of the center-rush. +Custer at times had his eye on the White House--why not! Had not Grant +been a soldier? + +Women worshiped Custer, and men who knew him, never doubted his +earnestness and honesty. He lacked humor. + +He was both sincere and serious. + +The expedition moved on up the tortuous Missouri, tying up at night to +avoid the treacherous sandbars that lay in wait. + +They had reached the Yellowstone River, and were getting into the +Indian Country. + +To lighten the boats, Terry divided his force into two parts. Custer +disembarked on the morning of the Twenty-fifth of June, with four +hundred forty-three men, besides a dozen who looked after the +pack-train. + +Scouts reported that the hostile Sioux were camped on the Little Big +Horn, seventy-five miles across the country. + +Terry gave Custer orders to march the seventy-five miles in +forty-eight hours, and attack the Indians at the head of their camp at +daylight on the morning of the Twenty-seventh. There was to be no +parley--panic was the thing desired, and when Custer had started the +savages on the run, Terry would attack them at the other end of their +village, and the two fleeing mobs of savages would be driven on each +other, and then they would cast down their arms and the trick would be +done. + +Next, to throw a cordon of soldiers around the camp and hold it would +be easy. + + ------------------------------------- + +Custer and his men rode away at about eight o'clock on the morning of +the Twenty-fifth. They were in high spirits, for the cramped quarters +on the transports made freedom doubly grateful. + +They disappeared across the mesa and through the gray-brown hills, and +soon only a cloud of dust marked their passage. + +After five miles had been turned off on a walk, Custer ordered a trot, +and then, where the ground was level, a canter. + +On they went. + +They pitched camp at four o'clock, having covered forty miles. The +horses were unsaddled and fed, and supper cooked and eaten. + +But sleep was not to be--these men shall sleep no more! + +The bugles sounded "Boots and Saddles." Before sunset they were again +on their way. + + ------------------------------------- + +By three o'clock on the morning of the Twenty-sixth, they had covered +more than seventy miles. + +They halted for coffee. + +The night, waiting for the dawn, was doubly dark. + +Fast-riding scouts had gone on ahead, and now reported the Indians +camped just over the ridge, four miles away. + +Custer divided his force into two parts. The Indians were camped along +the river for three miles. There were about two thousand of them, and +the women and children were with them. + +Reno with two hundred fifty men was ordered to swing around and attack +the village from the South. Custer with one hundred ninety-three men +would watch the charge, and when the valiant Reno had started the +panic and the Indians were in confusion, his force would then sweep +around and charge them from the other end of the village. + +This was Terry's plan of battle, only Custer was going to make the +capture without Terry's help. + +When Terry came up the following day, he would find the work all done +and neatly, too. Results are the only things that count, and victory +justifies itself. + +The battle would go down on the records as Custer's triumph! + +Reno took a two-mile detour, and just at peep of day, ere the sun had +gilded the tops of the cottonwoods, charged, with yells and rapid +firing, into the Indian village. Custer stood on the ridge, his men +mounted and impatient just below on the other side. + +He could distinguish Reno's soldiers as they charged into the +underbrush. Their shouts and the sound of firing filled his fighter's +heart. + +The Indians were in confusion--he could see them by the dim light, +stampeding. They were running in brownish masses right around the +front of the hill where he stood. He ordered the bugles to blow the +charge. + +The soldiers greeted the order with a yell--tired muscles, the +sleepless night, its seventy-five miles of hard riding, were +forgotten. The battle would be fought and won in less time than a man +takes to eat his breakfast. + +Down the slope swept Custer's men to meet the fleeing foe. + +But now the savages had ceased to flee. They lay in the grass and +fired. + +Several of Custer's horses fell. + +Three of his men threw up their hands, and dropped from their saddles, +limp like bags of oats, and their horses ran on alone. + +The gully below was full of Indians, and these sent a murderous fire +at Custer as he came. His horses swerved, but several ran right on and +disappeared, horse and rider in the sunken ditch, as did Napoleon's +men at Waterloo. + +The mad, headlong charge hesitated. The cottonwoods, the water and the +teepees were a hundred yards away. + +Custer glanced back, and a mile distant saw Reno's soldiers galloping +wildly up the steep slope of the hill. + +Reno's charge had failed--instead of riding straight down through the +length of the village and meeting Custer, he had gotten only fifty +rods, and then had been met by a steady fire from Indians who held +their ground. He wedged them back, but his horses, already overridden, +refused to go on, and the charging troops were simply carried out of +the woods into the open, and once there they took to the hills for +safety, leaving behind, dead, one-third of their force. + +Custer quickly realized the hopelessness of charging alone into a mass +of Indians, who were exultant and savage in the thought of victory. +Panic was not for them. + + ------------------------------------- + +They were armed with Springfield rifles, while the soldiers had only +short-range carbines. + +The bugles now ordered a retreat, and Custer's men rode back to the +top of the hill--with intent to join forces with Reno. + + ------------------------------------- + +Reno was hopelessly cut off. Determined Sioux filled the gully that +separated the two little bands of brave men. + +Custer, evidently, thought that Reno had simply withdrawn to re-form +his troop, and that any moment Reno would ride to his rescue. + +Custer decided to hold the hill. + +The Indians were shooting at him from long range, occasionally killing +a horse. + +He told off his fours and ordered the horses sent to the rear. + +The fours led their horses back toward where they had left their +packmules when they had stopped for coffee at three o'clock. + +But the fours had not gone half a mile when they were surrounded by a +mob of Indians that just closed in on them. Every man was killed--the +horses were galloped off by the women and children. + +Custer now realized that he was caught in a trap. The ridge where his +men lay face down was half a mile long, and not more than twenty feet +across at the top. The Indians were everywhere--in the gullies, in the +grass, in little scooped-out holes. The bullets whizzed above the +heads of Custer's men as they lay there, flattening their bodies in +the dust. + +The morning sun came out, dazzling and hot. + +It was only nine o'clock. + +The men were without food and without water. The Little Big Horn +danced over its rocky bed and shimmered in the golden light, only half +a mile away, and there in the cool, limpid stream they had been +confident they would now swim and fish, the battle over, while they +proudly held the disarmed Indians against General Terry's coming. + +But the fight had not been won, and death lay between them and water. +The only thing to do was to await Reno or Terry. Reno might come at +any time, and Terry would arrive without fail at tomorrow's dawn--he +had said so, and his word was the word of a soldier. + +Custer had blundered. + +The fight was lost. + +Now it was just a question of endurance. Noon came, and the buzzards +began to gather in the azure. + +The sun was blistering hot--there was not a tree, nor a bush, nor a +green blade of grass within reach. + +The men had ceased to joke and banter. The situation was serious. Some +tried to smoke, but their parching thirst was thus only +aggravated--they threw their pipes away. + +The Indians now kept up an occasional shooting. + +They were playing with the soldiers as a cat plays with a mouse. + +The Indian is a cautious fighter--he makes no sacrifices in order to +win. Now he had his prey secure. + +Soon the soldiers would run out of ammunition, and then one more day, +or two at least, and thirst and fatigue would reduce brave men into +old women, and the squaws could rush in and pound them on the head +with clubs. + +The afternoon dragged along its awful length. Time dwindled and +dawdled. + +At last the sun sank, a ball of fire in the West. + +The moon came out. + +Now and then a Sioux would creep up into shadowy view, but a shot from +a soldier would send him back into hiding. Down in the cottonwoods the +squaws made campfires and were holding a dance, singing their songs of +victory. + +Custer warned his men that sleep was death. This was their second +sleepless night, and the men were feverish with fatigue. Some babbled +in strange tongues, and talked with sisters and sweethearts and people +who were not there--reason was tottering. + +With Custer was an Indian boy, sixteen years old, "Curley the Crow." +Custer now at about midnight told Curley to strip himself and crawl +out among the Indians, and if possible, get out through the lines and +tell Terry of their position. Several of Custer's men had tried to +reach water, but none came back. + +Curley got through the lines--his boldness in mixing with the Indians +and his red skin saving him. He took a long way round and ran to tell +Terry the seriousness of the situation. + +Terry was advancing, but was hampered and harassed by Indians for +twenty miles. They fired at him from gullies, ridges, rocks, prairie-dog +mounds, and then retreated. He had to move with caution. Instead of +arriving at daylight as he expected, Terry was three hours behind. The +Indians surrounding Custer saw the dust from the advancing troop. + +They hesitated to charge Custer boldly as he lay on the hilltop, +entrenched by little ditches dug in the night with knives, tin cups +and bleeding fingers. + +It was easy to destroy Custer, but it meant a dead Sioux for every +white soldier. + +The Indians made sham charges to draw Custer's fire, and then +withdrew. + +They circled closer. The squaws came up with sticks and stones and +menaced wildly. + +Custer's fire grew less and less. He was running out of ammunition. + +Terry was only five miles away. + +The Indians closed in like a cloud around Custer and his few +survivors. + +It was a hand-to-hand fight--one against a hundred. + +In five minutes every man was dead, and the squaws were stripping the +mangled and bleeding forms. + +Already the main body of Indians was trailing across the plains toward +the mountains. + +Terry arrived, but it was too late. + +An hour later Reno limped in, famished, half of his men dead or +wounded, sick, undone. + +To follow the fleeing Indians was useless--the dead soldiers must be +decently buried, and the living succored. Terry himself had suffered +sore. + +The Indians were five thousand strong, not two. They had gathered up +all the other tribes for more than a hundred miles. Now they moved +North toward Canada. Terry tried to follow, but they held him off with +a rear-guard, like white veterans. The Indians escaped across the +border. + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + Anybody can order, but to serve with grace, tact and + effectiveness is a fine art. + + + SAM + + +In San Francisco lived a lawyer--age, sixty--rich in money, rich in +intellect, a business man with many interests. + +Now, this lawyer was a bachelor, and lived in apartments with his +Chinese servant "Sam." + +Sam and his master had been together for fifteen years. + +The servant knew the wants of his employer as though he were his other +self. No orders were necessary. + +If there was to be a company--one guest or a hundred--Sam was told the +number, that was all, and everything was provided. + +This servant was cook, valet, watchman, friend. + +No stray, unwished-for visitor ever got to the master to rob him of +his rest when he was at home. + +If extra help was wanted, Sam secured it; he bought what was needed; +and when the lawyer awakened in the morning, it was to the singing of +a tiny music-box with a clock attachment set for seven o'clock. + +The bath was ready; a clean shirt was there on the dresser, with studs +and buttons in place; collar and scarf were near; the suit of clothes +desired hung over a chair; the right pair of shoes, polished like a +mirror, was at hand, and on the mantel was a half-blown rose, with the +dew still upon it, for a boutonniere. + +Downstairs, the breakfast, hot and savory, waited. + +When the good man was ready to go to the office, silent as a shadow +stood Sam in the hallway, with overcoat, hat and cane in hand. + +When the weather was threatening, an umbrella was substituted for the +cane. The door was opened, and the master departed. + +When he returned at nightfall, on his approach the door swung wide. + +Sam never took a vacation; he seemed not to either eat or sleep. + +He was always near when needed; he disappeared when he should. + +He knew nothing and he knew everything. + +For weeks scarcely a word might pass between these men, they +understood each other so well. + +The lawyer grew to have a great affection for his servant. + +He paid him a hundred dollars a month, and tried to devise other ways +to show his gratitude; but Sam wanted nothing, not even thanks. + +All he desired was the privilege to serve. + +But one morning as Sam poured his master's coffee, he said quietly, +without a shade of emotion on his yellow face, "Next week I leave +you." + +The lawyer smiled. + +"Next week I leave you," repeated the Chinese; "I hire for you better +man." + +The lawyer set down his cup of coffee. He looked at the white-robed +servant. He felt the man was in earnest. + +"So you are going to leave me--I do not pay you enough, eh? That Doctor +Sanders who was here--he knows what a treasure you are. Don't be a +fool, Sam; I'll make it a hundred and fifty a month--say no more." + +"Next week I leave you--I go to China," said the servant impassively. + +"Oh, I see! You are going back for a wife? All right, bring her +here--you will return in two months? I do not object; bring your wife +here--there is work for two to keep this place in order. The place is +lonely, anyway. I'll see the Collector of the Port, myself, and +arrange your passage-papers." + +"I go to China next week: I need no papers--I never come back," said +the man with exasperating calmness and persistence. + +"By God, you shall not go!" said the lawyer. + +"By God, I will!" answered the heathen. + +It was the first time in their experience together that the servant +had used such language, or such a tone, toward his master. + +The lawyer pushed his chair back, and after an instant said, quietly, +"Sam, you must forgive me; I spoke quickly. I do not own you--but tell +me, what have I done--why do you leave me this way, you know I need +you!" + +"I will not tell you why I go--you laugh." + +"No, I shall not laugh." + +"You will." + +"I say, I will not." + +"Very well, I go to China to die!" + +"Nonsense! You can die here. Haven't I agreed to send your body back +if you die before I do?" + +"I die in four weeks, two days!" + +"What!" + +"My brother, he in prison. He twenty-six, I fifty. He have wife and +baby. In China they accept any man same family to die. I go to China, +give my money to my brother--he live, I die!" + +The next day a new Chinaman appeared as servant in the lawyer's +household. In a week this servant knew everything, and nothing, just +like Sam. + +And Sam disappeared, without saying good-by. + +He went to China and was beheaded, four weeks and two days from the +day he broke the news of his intent to go. + +His brother was set free. + +And the lawyer's household goes along about as usual, save when the +master calls for "Sam," when he should say, "Charlie." + +At such times there comes a kind of clutch at his heart, but he says +nothing. + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + When power and beauty meet, the world would do well + to take to its cyclone-cellar. + + + CLEOPATRA AND CAESAR + + +The sole surviving daughter of the great King Ptolemy of Egypt, +Cleopatra was seventeen years old when her father died. + +By his will the King made her joint heir to the throne with her +brother Ptolemy, several years her junior. And according to the custom +not unusual among royalty at that time, it was provided that Ptolemy +should become the husband of Cleopatra. + +She was a woman--her brother a child. + +She had intellect, ambition, talent. She knew the history of her own +country, and that of Assyria, Greece and Rome; and all the written +languages of the world were to her familiar. She had been educated by +the philosophers, who had brought from Greece the science of +Pythagoras and Plato. Her companions had been men--not women, or +nurses, or pious, pedantic priests. + +Through the veins of her young body pulsed and leaped life, plus. + +She abhorred the thought of an alliance with her weak-chinned brother; +and the ministers of State, who suggested another husband as a +compromise, were dismissed with a look. + +They said she was intractable, contemptuous, unreasonable, and was +scheming for the sole possession of the throne. + +She was not to be diverted even by ardent courtiers who were sent to +her, and who lay in wait ready with amorous sighs--she scorned them +all. + +Yet she was a woman still, and in her dreams she saw the coming +prince. + +She was banished from Alexandria. + +A few friends followed her, and an army was formed to force from the +enemy her rights. + +But other things were happening--a Roman army came leisurely drifting +in with the tide and disembarked at Alexandria. The Great Caesar +himself was in command--a mere holiday, he said. He had intended to +join the land forces of Mark Antony and help crush the rebellious +Pompey, but Antony had done the trick alone; and only a few days +before, word had come that Pompey was dead. + +Caesar knew that civil war was on in Alexandria, and being near he +sailed slowly in, sending messengers on ahead warning both sides to +lay down their arms. + +With him was the far-famed invincible Tenth Legion that had ravished +Gaul. Caesar wanted to rest his men and, incidentally, to reward them. +They took possession of the city without a blow. + +Cleopatra's troops laid down their arms, but Ptolemy's refused. They +were simply chased beyond the walls, and their punishment for the time +being was deferred. + +Caesar took possession of the palace of the King, and his soldiers +accommodated themselves in the houses, public buildings, and temples +as best they could. + +Cleopatra asked for a personal interview, in order to present her +cause. + +Caesar declined to meet her--he understood the trouble--many such cases +he had seen. Claimants for thrones were not new to him. Where two +parties quarreled, both are right--or wrong--it really mattered little. + +It is absurd to quarrel--still more foolish to fight. + +Caesar was a man of peace, and to keep the peace he would appoint one +of his generals governor, and make Egypt a Roman colony. + +In the meantime he would rest a week or two, with the kind permission +of the Alexandrians, and write upon his "Commentaries"--no, he would +not see either Cleopatra or Ptolemy--any desired information they would +get through his trusted emissaries. + +In the service of Cleopatra was a Sicilian slave who had been her +personal servant since she was a little girl. This man's name was +Appolidorus. He was a man of giant stature and imposing mien. Ten +years before his tongue had been torn out as a token that as he was to +attend a queen he should tell no secrets. + +Appolidorus had but one thought in life, and that was to defend his +gracious queen. He slept at the door of Cleopatra's tent, a naked +sword at his side, held in his clenched and brawny hand. + +And now behold at dusk of day the grim and silent Appolidorus, +carrying upon his giant shoulders a large and curious rug, rolled up +and tied 'round at each end with ropes. + +He approaches the palace of the King, and at the guarded gate hands a +note to the officer in charge. This note gives information to the +effect that a certain patrician citizen of Alexandria, being glad that +the gracious Caesar had deigned to visit Egypt, sends him the richest +rug that can be woven--done, in fact, by his wife and daughters and +held against this day, awaiting Rome's greatest son. + +The officer reads the note, and orders a soldier to accept the gift +and carry it within--presents were constantly arriving. A sign from the +dumb giant makes the soldier stand back--the present is for Caesar and +can be delivered only in person. "Lead and I will follow," were the +words done in stern pantomime. The officer laughs, sends in the note, +and the messenger soon returning, signifies that the present is +acceptable and the slave bearing it shall be shown in. Appolidorus +shifts his burden to the other shoulder, and follows the soldier +through the gate, up the marble steps, along the splendid hallway, +lighted by flaring torches and lined with reclining Roman soldiers. + +At a door they pause an instant, there is a whispered word--they enter. + +The room is furnished as becomes the room that is the private library +of the King of Egypt. In one corner, seated at the table, pen in hand, +sits a man of middle age, pale, clean-shaven, with hair close-cropped. +His dress is not that of a soldier--it is the flowing white robe of a +Roman Priest. Only one servant attends this man, a secretary, seated +near, who rises and explains that the present is acceptable and shall +be deposited on the floor. + +The pale man at the table looks up, smiles a tired smile and murmurs +in a perfunctory way his thanks. + +Appolidorus having laid his burden on the floor, kneels to untie the +ropes. The secretary explains that he need not trouble, pray bear +thanks and again thanks to his master--he need not tarry! + +The dumb man on his knees neither hears nor heeds. The rug is +unrolled. + +From out the roll a woman leaps lightly to her feet--a beautiful young +woman of twenty. + +She stands there, poised, defiant, gazing at the pale-faced man seated +at the table. + +He is not surprised--he never was. One might have supposed he received +all his visitors in this manner. + +"Well?" he says in a quiet way, a half-smile parting his thin lips. + +The breast of the woman heaves with tumultuous emotion--just an +instant. She speaks, and there is no tremor in her tones. Her voice is +low, smooth and scarcely audible: "I am Cleopatra." + +The man at the desk lays down his pen, leans back and gently nods his +head, as much as to say, indulgently, "Yes, my child, I hear--go on!" + +"I am Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, and I would speak with thee, alone." + +She pauses; then raising one jeweled arm motions to Appolidorus that +he shall withdraw. + +With a similar motion, the man at the desk signifies the same to his +astonished secretary. + + ------------------------------------- + +Appolidorus went down the long hallway, down the stone steps and +waited at the outer gate amid the throng of soldiers. They questioned +him, gibed him, railed at him, but they got no word in reply. + +He waited--he waited an hour, two--and then came a messenger with a note +written on a slip of parchment. The words ran thus: "Well-beloved +'Dorus: Veni, vidi, vici! Go fetch my maids; also, all of our personal +belongings." + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + As the cities are all only two days from famine, so + is man's life constantly but a step from dissolution. + + + A SPECIAL OCCASION + + +Once on a day, I spoke at the Athenaeum, New Orleans, for the Young +Men's Hebrew Association. + +When they had asked my fee I answered, "One Hundred Fifty Dollars." +The reply was, "We will pay you Two Hundred--it is to be a special +occasion." + +A carriage was sent to my hotel for me. The Jews may be close traders, +but when it comes to social functions, they know what to do. The Jew +is the most generous man in the world, even if he can be at times cent +per cent. + +As I approached the Athenaeum I thought, "What a beautiful building!" +It was stone and brick--solid, subdued, complete and substantial. The +lower rooms were used for the Hebrew Club. Upstairs stretched the +splendid hall, as I could tell from the brilliantly lighted windows. + +Inside, I noticed that the stairways were carpeted with Brussels. +Glancing through the wide doorways, I beheld an audience of more than +two thousand people. The great chandeliers sent out a dazzling glory +from their crystal and gold. At the sides, rich tapestries and +hangings of velvet covered the windows. + +"A beautiful building," I said to my old-time friend, Maurice J. Pass, +the Secretary of the Club. + +He smiled in satisfaction and replied, "Well, we seldom let things go +by default--you have tonight as fine an audience as ever assembled in +New Orleans." + +We passed down a side hallway and under the stage, preparatory to +going on the platform. In this room below the stage a single electric +light shone. The place was dark and dingy, in singular contrast to the +beauty, light, cleanliness and order just beyond. In the corner were +tables piled high--evidently used for banquets--broken furniture and +discarded boxes. + +Several smart young men in full dress sat on the tables smoking +cigarettes. One young man said in explanation, "We were crowded +out--had to give up our seats to ladies--so we are going to sit on the +stage." + +The soft blue smoke from the cigarettes seemed to hug close about the +lonely electric light. + +I saw the smoke and thought that beside the odor of tobacco I detected +the smell of smoldering pine. + +"Isn't it a trifle smoky here?" I said to the young man nearest me. + +He laughed at this remark and handed me a cigarette. + +The Secretary of the Club and I went up the narrow stairs to the stage. +As we stood there behind the curtain I looked at the pleasant-faced +man. "You didn't detect the odor of burning wood down there, did you?" +I asked. + +"No; but you see the windows are open, and there are bonfires outside, +I suppose." + +"I am a fool," I thought; "and James Whitcomb Riley was right when he +said that the speaker who is about to make his bow to an audience is +always so keyed up that at the moment he is incapable of sane +thinking." + +I excused myself and walked over to an open window at the back of the +stage and looked down. + +It must have been forty feet to the stony street beneath. + +Then I went to a side window and threw up the sash. This window looked +out on a roof ten or twelve feet below. I got a broken broom that +stood in the corner and propped the window open. + +The thought of fire was upon me and I was inwardly planning what I +would do in case of a stampede. I am always thinking about what I +would do should this or that happen. Nothing can surprise me--not even +death. If any of my best helpers should leave me, I have it all +planned exactly whom I will put in their places. I have it arranged +who will take my own place--my will is made and my body is to be +cremated. + +"Cremated? Not tonight!" I said to myself, as I placed the broom under +the sash. "If a panic occurs, the people will go out of the doors and +I will stick to the stage until my coat-tails singe. I'll say that the +fire is in an adjoining building; then I'll smilingly bow myself off +the stage and gently drop out of that window." + +"All ready when you are," said Mr. Fass. + +I passed out on the stage before that vast sea of faces. + +It was a glorious sight. There was a row of military men from the +French warship in the harbor, down in front; priests, and ladies with +sparkling diamonds; a bishop wearing a purple vestment under his black +gown sat to one side; a stout lady in decollete waved a feather fan in +rhythmic, mystic motion, far back to the left. + +The audience applauded encouragingly, I wished I was back in that dear +East Aurora. But I began. + +In a few minutes my heart ceased to thump and I knew we were off. + +I spoke for two hours, and I spoke well. + +I did not push the lecture in front of me, nor did I drag it behind. I +got the chancery twist on it and carried it off big, as I do about one +time in ten. I finished in a whirlwind of applause, with the bishop +crying "Bravo!" and the fat lady with the fifty-dollar feather fan +beaming approbation. + +Fass stood in the wings to congratulate me. + + ------------------------------------- + +I shook hands with a hundred. The house slowly emptied. I bade the +genial Fass good-by. He took my hand in both of his. "You will come +back! You must come back!" he said. + +He walked with me, bareheaded, to my carriage. + +He again pressed my hand. + +I rode to my hotel and went to bed, and to sleep. + +I was awakened by a bright glare of light that filled my room. + +I got up and looked at my watch. It was just midnight. + +Off to the East I saw red tongues of angry flame streaking the sky +from horizon to zenith. + +"It is the Jewish Club, all right," I said. + +I pulled down the blind and went back to bed. + +When I went down to breakfast at seven o'clock in the morning, I heard +the newsboys in the streets crying, "All about the fire!" I bought a +paper and read the headline, "Hubbard's Lecture Hot Stuff!" + +I walked out Saint Charles Avenue and viewed the smoldering ruins +where only a few hours before I had spoken to more than two thousand +people--where the bishop in purple vestment had cried "Bravo!" and the +stout lady with feathered fan had beamed approval. + +"Was anybody hurt?" I asked one of the policemen on guard. + +"Only one man killed--Fass, the Secretary; I believe he lies somewhere +over there to the left, beneath that toppled wall." + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + The person who reasons from a false premise is + always funny--to other folks. + + + UNCLE JOE AND AUNT MELINDA + + +The opinion prevails all through the truly rural districts that the +big cities are for the most part given over to Confidence Men. + +And the strange part is that the opinion is correct. + +But it should not be assumed that all the people in, say, Buffalo, are +moral derelicts--there are many visitors there, most of the time, from +other sections. + +And while at all times one should exercise caution, yet to assume that +the party who is "fresh" is intent on high crimes and misdemeanors may +be a rather hasty and unjust generalization. + +For instance, there are Uncle Joe and Aunt Melinda, who live eight +miles back from East Aurora, at Wales Hollow. They had been married +for forty-seven years, and had never taken a wedding-journey. They +decided to go to Buffalo and spend two days at a hotel regardless of +expense. + +Much had been told them about the Confidence Men who hang around the +railroad-station, and they were prepared. + +They arrived at East Aurora, where they were to take the train, an +hour ahead of time. The Jerkwater came in and they were duly seated, +when all at once Uncle Joe rushed for the door, jumped off and made +for the waiting-room looking for his carpetbag. It was on the train +all right, but he just forgot, and feeling sure he had left it in the +station made the grand skirmish as aforesaid. + +The result was that the train went off and left your Uncle Joseph. + +Aunt Melinda was much exercised, but the train-hands pacified her by +assurances that her husband would follow on the next train, and she +should simply wait for him in the depot at Buffalo. + +Now the Flyer was right behind the Jerkwater, and Uncle Joe took the +Flyer and got to Buffalo first. When the Jerkwater came in, Uncle Joe +was on the platform waiting for Aunt Melinda. + +As she disembarked he approached her. + +She shied and passed on. + +He persisted in his attentions. + +Then it was that she shook her umbrella at him and bade him hike. The +eternally feminine in her nature prompted self-preservation. She +banked on her reason--woman's reason--not her intuition. She had started +first--her husband could only come on a later train. + +"Go 'way and leave me alone," she shouted in shrill falsetto. "You +have got yourself up to look like my Joe--and that idiotic grin on your +homely face is just like my Joe, but no city sharper can fool me, and +if you don't go right along I'll call for the perlice!" + +She called for the police, and Uncle Joe had to show a strawberry-mark +to prove his identity, before he received recognition. + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + To be your brother's keeper is beautiful if you do + not cease to be his friend. + + + BILLY AND THE BOOK + + +One day last Winter in New York I attended a police court on a side +street, just off lower Broadway. I was waiting to see my old friend +Rosenfeld in the Equitable Life Building, but as his office didn't +open up until nine o'clock, I put in my time at the police court. + +There was the usual assortment of drunks, petty thieves--male and +female, black, white and coffee-colored--disorderlies, vagabonds and a +man in full-dress suit and a wide expanse of dull ecru shirt-bosom. + +The place was stuffy, foul-smelling, and reeked with a stale +combination of tobacco and beer and patchouli, and tears, curses, fear +and promises unkept. + +The Judge turned things off, but without haste. He showed more +patience and consideration than one usually sees on the bench. His +judgments seemed to be gentle and just. + +The courtroom was clearing, and I started to go. + + ------------------------------------- + +As I was passing down the icy steps a piping child's voice called to +me, "Mister, please give me a lift!" + +There at the foot of the steps, standing in the snow, was a slender +slip of a girl, yellow and earnest, say ten years old, with a shawl +pinned over her head. She held in her hand a rope, and this rope was +tied to a hand-sled. On this sled sat a little boy, shivering, dumpy +and depressed, his bare red hands clutching the seat. + +"Mister, I say, please give me a lift!" + +"Sure!" I said. + +It was a funny sight. + +This girl seemed absolutely unconscious of herself. She was not at all +abashed, and very much in earnest about something. + +Evidently she had watched the people coming out and had waited until +one appeared that she thought safe to call on for help. + +"Of course I'll give you a lift--what is it you want me to do?" + +"I've got to go inside and see the Judge. It's about my brudder here. +He is six, goin' on seven, and they sent him home from school 'cause +they said he wasn't old enough. I'm going to have that teacher +'rested. I've got the Bible here that says he's six years old. If +you'll carry the book I'll bring Billy and the sled!" + +"Where is the Bible?" I asked. + +"Billy's settin' on it." + +It was a big, black, greasy Family Bible, evidently a relic of better +days. It had probably been hidden under the bed for safety. + +The girl grappled the sled with one hand, and with the other Billy's +little red fist. + +I followed, carrying the big, black, greasy Family Bible. + +Evidently this girl had been here before. She walked around the end of +the judicial bar, and laid down the sled. Then she took the Bible out +of my hands. It was about all she could do to lift it. + +In a shrill, piping voice, full of business, and very much in earnest, +she addressed the Judge: "I say, Mister Judge, they sent my brudder +Billy away from school, they did. He's six, goin' on seven, and I want +that teacher 'rested and brought here so you can tell her to let Billy +go to school. Here is our Family Bible--you can see for yourself how +old Billy is!" + +The Judge adjusted his glasses, stared, and exclaimed, "God bless my +soul!" + +Then he called a big, blue-coated officer over and said: "Mike, you go +with this little girl and her brother, and tell that teacher, if +possible, to allow the boy to go to school; that I say he is old +enough. You understand! If you do not succeed, come back and tell me +why." + +The officer smiled and saluted. + +The big policeman took the little boy in his arms. The girl carried +the sled, and I followed with the Family Bible. + +The officer looked at me--"Newspaper man, I s'pose?" + +"Yes," I said. + +"What paper?" + +"The American." + +"It's the best ever." + +"I think so--possibly with a few exceptions." + +"She's the queerest lot yet, is this kid," and the big bluecoat jerked +his thumb toward the girl. + +I suggested that we go to the restaurant across the way and get a bite +of something to eat. + +"I'm not hungry," said the officer, "but the youngsters look as if +they hadn't et since day before yesterday." + +We lined up at the counter. + +The officer drank two cups of coffee and ate a ham sandwich, two +hard-boiled eggs, a plate of cakes and a piece of pie. + +The girl and her brother each had a plate of cakes, a piece of pie and +a glass of milk. + +"What's yours?" asked the waiter. + +"Same," said I. + +As I did not care for the cakes, the officer cleaned the plate for me. + +I didn't have time to go to the school, but the officer assured me +that he would "fix it," and he winked knowingly, as if he had looked +after such things before. He was kind, but determined, and I had +confidence he would see that the little boy was duly admitted. + +I started up the street alone. + +They went the other way. The officer carried the little boy. + +The girl with the shawl over her head followed, pulling the hand-sled, +and on the sled rested the big, black Family Bible. I lost sight of +them as they turned the corner. + + + + + ------------------------------------- + + An act is only a crystallized thought. + + + JOHN THE BAPTIST AND SALOME + + +John the Baptist, the strong, fine youth, came up out of the +wilderness crying in the streets of Jerusalem, "Repent ye! Repent ye!" + +Salome heard the call and from her window looked with half- closed, +catlike eyes upon the semi-naked, young fanatic. + +She smiled, did this idle creature of luxury, as she lay there amid +the cushions on her couch, and gazed through the casement upon the +preacher in the street. + +Suddenly a thought came to her. + +She arose on her elbow--she called her slaves. + +They clothed her in a gaudy gown, dressed her hair, and led her forth. + +Salome followed the wild, weird, religious enthusiast. + +She pushed through the crowd and placed herself near the man, so the +smell of her body would reach his nostrils. + +His eyes ranged the swelling lines of her body. + +Their eyes met. + +She half-smiled and gave him that look which had snared the soul of +many another. + +But he only gazed at her with passionless, judging intensity and +repeated his cry, "Repent ye. Repent ye, for the day is at hand!" + +Her reply, uttered soft and low, was this: "I would kiss thy lips!" + +He moved away and she reached to seize his garment, repeating, "I +would kiss thy lips--I would kiss thy lips!" + +He turned aside, and forgot her, as he continued his warning cry, and +went his way. + +The next day she waylaid the youth again; as he came near she suddenly +and softly stepped forth and said in that same low, purring voice, "I +would kiss thy lips!" + +He repulsed her with scorn. + +She threw her arms about him and sought to draw his head down near +hers. + +He pushed her from him with sinewy hands, sprang as from a pestilence, +and was lost in the pressing throng. + +That night she danced before Herod Antipas, and when the promise was +recalled that she should have anything she wished, she named the head +of the only man who had ever turned away from her. "The head of John +the Baptist on a charger!" + +In an hour the wish was gratified. + +Two eunuchs stood before Salome with a silver tray bearing its +fearsome burden. + +The woman smiled--a smile of triumph, as she stepped forth with +tinkling feet. + +A look of pride came over the painted face. + +Her jeweled fingers reached into the blood-matted hair. She lifted the +head aloft, and the bracelets on her brown, bare arms fell to her +shoulders, making strange music. Her face pressed the face of the +dead. + +In exultation she exclaimed, "I have kissed thy lips!" + + + + ------------------------------------- + + He who influences the thought of his time influences + the thought of all the time that follows. And he has + made his impress upon eternity. + + + THE MASTER + + +Giovanni Bellini was his name. + +Yet when people who loved beautiful pictures spoke of "Gian," every +one knew who was meant; but to those who worked at art he was "The +Master." He was two inches under six feet in height, strong and +muscular. In spite of his seventy summers his carriage was erect, and +there was a jaunty suppleness about his gait that made him seem much +younger. In fact, no one would have believed he had lived over his +threescore and ten, were it not for the iron-gray hair that fluffed +out all around under the close-fitting black cap, and the bronzed +complexion--sun-kissed by wind and by weather--which formed a trinity of +opposites that made people turn and stare. + +Queer stories used to be told about him. He was a skilful gondolier, +and it was the daily row back and forth from the Lido that gave him +that face of bronze. Folks said he ate no meat and drank no wine, and +that his food was simply ripe figs in the season, with coarse rye +bread and nuts. + +Then there was that funny old hunchback, a hundred years old at least, +and stone-deaf, who took care of the gondola, spending the whole day, +waiting for his master, washing the trim, graceful, blue-black boat, +arranging the awning with the white cords and tassels, and polishing +the little brass lions at the sides. People tried to question the old +hunchback, but he gave no secrets away. The master always stood up +behind and rowed; while down on the cushions rode the hunchback, the +guest of honor. + +There stood the master erect, plying the oar, his long black robe +tucked up under the dark blue sash that exactly matched the color of +the gondola. The man's motto might have been, "Ich Dien," or that +passage of Scripture, "He that is greatest among you shall be your +servant." Suspended around his neck by a slender chain was a bronze +medal, presented by vote of the Signoria when the great picture of +"The Transfiguration" was unveiled. If this medal had been a crucifix, +and you had met the wearer in San Marco, one glance at the finely +chiseled features, the black cap and the flowing robe and you would +have said at once the man was a priest, Vicar-General of some +important diocese. But seeing him standing erect on the stern of a +gondola, the wind caressing the dark gray hair, you would have been +perplexed until your gondolier explained in serious undertone that you +had just passed "the greatest Painter in all Venice, Gian, the +Master." + +Then, if you showed curiosity and wanted to know further, the +gondolier would have told you more about this strange man. + +The canals of Venice are the highways, and the gondoliers are like +'bus-drivers in Piccadilly--they know everybody and are in close touch +with all the Secrets of State. When you get to the Gindecca and tie up +for lunch, over a bottle of Chianti, your gondolier will tell you +this: + +The hunchback there in the gondola, rowed by the Master, is the Devil, +who has taken that form just to be with and guard the greatest artist +the world has ever seen. Yes, Signor, that clean-faced man with his +frank, wide-open, brown eyes is in league with the Evil One. He is the +man who took young Tiziano from Cadore into his shop, right out of a +glass-factory, and made him a great artist, getting him commissions +and introducing him everywhere! And how about the divine Giorgione who +called him father? Oho! + +And who is Giorgione? The son of some unknown peasant woman. And if +Bellini wanted to adopt him, treat him as his son indeed, kissing him +on the cheek when he came back just from a day's visit to Mestre, +whose business was it! Oho! + +Beside that, his name isn't Giorgione--it is Giorgio Barbarelli. And +didn't this Giorgio Barbarelli, and Tiziano from Cadore, and Espero +Carbonne, and that Gustavo from Nuremberg, and the others paint most +of Gian's pictures? Surely they did. The old man simply washes in the +backgrounds and the boys do the work. About all old Gian does is to +sign the picture, sell it and pocket the proceeds. Carpaccio helps +him, too--Carpaccio who painted the loveliest little angel sitting +cross-legged playing the biggest mandolin you ever saw in your life. + +That is genius, you know, the ability to get some one else to do the +work, and then capture the ducats and the honors for yourself. Of +course, Gian knows how to lure the boys on--something has to be done in +order to hold them. Gian buys a picture from them now and then; his +studio is full of their work--better than he can do. Oh, he knows a +good thing when he sees it. These pictures will be valuable some day, +and he gets them at his own price. It was Antonello of Messina who +introduced oil-painting into Venice. Before that they mixed their +paints with water, milk or wine. But when Antonello came along with +his dark, lustrous pictures, he set all artistic Venice astir. Gian +Bellini discovered the secret, they say, by feigning to be a gentleman +and going to the newcomer and sitting for his picture. He it was who +discovered that Antonello mixed his colors with oil. Oho! + +Of course, not all of the pictures in his studio are painted by the +boys: some are painted by that old Dutchman what's-his-name--oh, yes, +Durer, Alberto Durer of Nuremberg. Two Nuremberg painters were in that +very gondola last week just where you sit--they are here in Venice now, +taking lessons from Gian, they said. Gian was up there to Nuremberg +and lived a month with Durer--they worked together, drank beer +together, I suppose, and caroused. Gian is very strict about what he +does in Venice, but you can never tell what a man will do when he is +away from home. The Germans are a roystering lot--but they do say they +can paint. Me? I have never been up there--and do not want to go, +either--there are no canals there. To be sure, they print books in +Nuremberg. It was up there somewhere that they invented type, a lazy +scheme to do away with writing. They are a thrifty lot--those +Germans--they give me my fare and a penny more, just a single penny, +and no matter how much I have talked and pointed out the wonderful +sights, and imparted useful information, known to me alone--only one +penny extra--think of it! + +Yes, printing was first done at Mayence by a German, Gutenberg, about +sixty years ago. One of Gutenberg's workmen went up to Nuremberg and +taught others how to design and cast type. This man, Alberto Durer, +helped them, designing the initials and making their title-pages by +cutting the design on a wood block, then covering this block with ink, +laying a sheet of paper upon it, placing it in a press, and then when +the paper is lifted off it looks exactly like the original drawing. In +fact, most people couldn't tell the difference, and here you can print +thousands of them from the one block. + +Bellini makes drawings for title-pages and initials for Aldus and +Nicholas Jenson. Venice is the greatest printing place in the world, +and yet the business began here only thirty years ago. The first book +printed here was in Fourteen Hundred Sixty-nine, by John of Speyer. +There are two hundred licensed printing-presses here, and it takes +usually four men to a press--two to set the type and get things ready, +and two to run the press. This does not count, of course, the men who +write the books, and those who make the type and cut the blocks from +which they print the pictures for the illustrations. At first, you +know, the books they printed in Venice had no title-pages, initials or +illustrations. My father was a printer and he remembers when the first +large initials were printed--before that the spaces were left blank and +the books were sent out to the monasteries to be completed by hand. + +Gian and Gentile had a good deal to do about cutting the first blocks +for initials--they got the idea, I think, from Nuremberg. And now there +are Dutchmen down here from Amsterdam learning how to print books and +paint pictures. Several of them are in Gian's studio, I hear--every +once in a while I get them for a trip to the Lido or to Murano. + +Gentile Bellini is his brother and looks very much like him. The Grand +Turk at Constantinople came here once and saw Gian Bellini at work in +the Great Hall. He had never seen a good picture before and was +amazed. He wanted the Senate to sell Gian to him, thinking he was a +slave. They humored the Pagan by hiring Gentile Bellini to go instead, +loaning him out for two years, so to speak. + +Gentile went, and the Sultan, who never allowed any one to stand +before him, all having to grovel in the dirt, treated Gentile as an +equal. Gentile even taught the old rogue to draw a little, and they +say the painter had a key to every room in the palace, and was treated +like a prince. + +Well, they got along all right, until one day Gentile drew the picture +of the head of John the Baptist on a charger. + +"A man's head doesn't look like that when it is cut off," said the +Grand Turk contemptuously. Gentile had forgotten that the Turk was on +familiar ground. + +"Perhaps the Light of the Sun knows more about painting than I do!" +said Gentile, as he kept right on at his work. + +"I may not know much about painting, but I'm no fool in some other +things I might name," was the reply. + +The Sultan clapped his hands three times: two slaves appeared from +opposite doors. One was a little ahead of the other, and as this one +approached, the Sultan with a single swing of the snickersnee snipped +off his head. This teaches us that obedience to our superiors is its +own reward. But the lesson was wholly lost on Gentile Bellini, for he +did not even remain to examine the severed head for art's sake. The +thought that it might be his turn next was supreme, and he leaped +through a window, taking the sash with him. Making his way to the +docks he found a sailing vessel loading with fruit, bound for Venice. +A small purse of gold made the matter easy: the captain of the boat +secreted him, and in four days he was safely back in Saint Mark's +giving thanks to God for his deliverance. + +No, I didn't say Gian was a rogue--I only told you what others say. I +am only a poor gondolier--why should I trouble myself about what great +folks do? I simply tell you what I hear--it may be so, and it may not. +God knows! There is that Pascale Salvini--he has a rival studio--and +when that Genoese, Christoforo Colombo, was here and made his +stopping-place at Bellini's studio, Pascale told every one that +Colombo was a lunatic, and Bellini another, for encouraging him to +show his foolish maps and charts. Now, they do say that Colombo has +discovered a new world, and Italians are feeling troubled in +conscience because they did not fit him out with ships instead of +forcing him to go to Spain. + +No, I didn't say Bellini was a hypocrite--Pascale's pupils say so, and +once they followed him over to Murano--three barca-loads and my gondola +beside. You see it was like this: Twice a week just after sundown, we +used to see Gian Bellini untie his boat from the landing there behind +the Doge's palace, turn the prow, and beat out for Murano, with no +companion but that deaf old caretaker. Twice a week, Tuesdays and +Fridays--always at just the same hour, regardless of the weather--we +would see the old hunchback light the lamps, and in a few moments the +Master would appear, tuck up his black robe, step into the boat, take +the oar and away they would go. It was always to Murano, and always to +the same landing--one of our gondoliers had followed them several +times, just out of curiosity. + +Finally it came to the ears of Pascale that Gian took this regular +trip to Murano. "It is a rendezvous," said Pascale. "It is worse than +that: an orgy among those lacemakers and the rogues of the glassworks. +Oh, to think that Gian should stoop to such things at his age--his +pretended asceticism is but a mask--and at his age!" + +The Pascale students took it up, and once came in collision with that +Tiziano of Cadore, who they say broke a boat-hook over the head of one +of them who had spoken ill of the Master. + +But this did not silence the talk, and one dark night, when the air +was full of flying mist, one of Pascale's students came to me and told +me that he wanted me to take a party over to Murano. The weather was +so bad that I refused to go--the wind blew in gusts, sheet lightning +filled the Eastern sky, and all honest men, but poor belated +gondoliers, had hied them home. + +I refused to go. + +Had I not seen Gian the painter go not half an hour before? Well, if +he could go, others could too. + +I refused to go--except for double fare. + +He accepted and placed the double fare in silver in my palm. Then he +gave a whistle and from behind the corners came trooping enough +swashbuckler students to swamp my gondola. I let in just enough to +fill the seats and pushed off, leaving several standing on the stone +steps cursing me and everything and everybody. + +As my boat slid away in the fog and headed on our course, I glanced +back and saw the three barca-loads following in my wake. + +There was much muffled talk, and orders from some one in charge to +keep silence. But there was passing of strong drink, and then talk, +and from it I gathered that these were all students from Pascale's, +out on one of those student carousals, intent on heaven knows what! It +was none of my business. + +We shipped considerable water, and some of the students were down on +their knees praying and bailing, bailing and praying. + +At last we reached the Murano landing. All got out, the barcas tied +up, and I tied up, too, determined to see what was doing. The strong +drink was passed, and a low, heavy-set fellow who seemed to be captain +charged all not to speak, but to follow him and do as he did. + +We took a side street where there was little travel and followed +through the dark and dripping way, fully a half-mile, down there in +that end of the island called the sailors' broglio, where they say no +man's life is safe if he has a silver coin or two. There was much +music in the wine-shops and shouts of mirth and dancing feet on stone +floors, but the rain had driven every one from the streets. + +We came to a long, low, stone building that used to be a theater, but +was now a dance-hall upstairs and a warehouse below. There were lights +upstairs and sounds of music. The stairway was dark, but we felt our +way up and on tiptoe advanced to the big double door, from under which +the light streamed. + +We had received our orders, and when we got to the landing we stood +there just an instant. "Now we have him--Gian the hypocrite!" whispered +the stout man in a hoarse breath. We burst in the doors with a whoop +and a bang. The change from the dark to the light sort of blinded us +at first. We all supposed that there was a dance in progress of +course, and the screams from women were just what we expected; but +when we saw several overturned easels and an old man, half-nude, and +too scared to move, seated on a model throne, we did not advance into +the hall as we intended. That one yell we gave was all the noise we +made. We stood there in a bunch, just inside the door, sort of dazed +and uncertain. We did not know whether to retreat, or charge on +through the hall as we had intended. We just stood there like a lot of +driveling fools. + +"Keep right at your work, my good people. Keep right at your work!" +called a pleasant voice. "I see we have some visitors." + +And Gian Bellini came forward. His robe was still tucked up under the +blue sash, but he had laid aside his black cap, and his tumbled gray +hair looked like the aureole of a saint. "Keep right at your work," he +said again, and then came forward and bade us welcome and begged us to +have seats. + +I dared not run away, so I sat down on one of the long seats that were +ranged around the wall. My companions did the same. There must have +been fifty easels, all ranged in a semicircle around the old man who +posed as a model. Several of the easels had been upset, and there was +much confusion when we entered. + +"Just help us to arrange things--that is right, thank you," said Gian +to the stout man who was captain of our party. To my astonishment the +stout man was doing just as he was bid, and was pacifying the women +students and straightening up their easels and stools. + +I was interested in watching Gian walking around, helping this one +with a stroke of his crayon, saying a word to that, smiling and +nodding to another. I just sat there and stared. These students were +not regular art students, I could see that plainly. Some were +children, ragged and barelegged, others were old men who worked in the +glass-factories, and surely with hands too old and stiff to ever paint +well. Still others were women and young girls of the town. I rubbed my +eyes and tried to make it out! + +The music we heard I could still hear--it came from the wine-shop +across the way. I looked around and what do you believe? My companions +had all gone. They had sneaked out one by one and left me alone. + +I watched my chance and when the Master's back was turned I tiptoed +out, too. + + ------------------------------------- + +When I got down on the street I found I had left my cap, but I dared +not go back after it. I made my way down to the landing, half running, +and when I got there not a boat was to be seen--the three barcas and my +gondola were gone. + +I thought I could see them, out through the mist, a quarter of a mile +away. I called aloud, but no answer came back but the hissing wind. I +was in despair--they were stealing my boat, and if they did not steal +it, it would surely be wrecked--my all, my precious boat! + +I cried and wrung my hands. I prayed! And the howling winds only ran +shrieking and laughing around the corners of the building. + +I saw a glimmering light down the beach at a little landing. I ran to +it, hoping some gondolier might be found who would row me over to the +city. There was one boat at the landing and in it a hunchback, sound +asleep, covered with a canvas. It was Gian Bellini's boat. I shook the +hunchback into wakefulness and begged him to row me across to the +city. I yelled into his deaf ears, but he pretended not to understand +me. Then I showed him the silver coin--the double fare--and tried to +place it in his hand. But no, he only shook his head. + +I ran up the beach, still looking for a boat. + +An hour had passed. + + ------------------------------------- + +I got back to the landing just as Gian came down to his boat. + +I approached him and explained that I was a poor worker in the +glass-factory, who had to work all day and half the night, and as I +lived over in the city and my wife was dying, I must get home. Would +he allow me to ride with His Highness? "Certainly--with pleasure, with +pleasure!" he answered, and then pulling something from under his sash +he said, "Is this your cap, Signor?" I took my cap, but my tongue was +paralyzed for the moment so I could not thank him. + +The wind had died down, the rain had ceased, and from between the +blue-black clouds the moon shone out. Gian rowed with a strong, fine +stroke, singing a "Te Deum Laudamus" softly to himself the while. + +I lay there and wept, thinking of my boat, my all, my precious boat! + +We reached the landing--and there was my boat, safely tied up, not a +cushion nor a cord missing. + +Gian Bellini? He may be a rogue as Pascale Salvini says--God knows! How +can I tell--I am only a poor gondolier! + + ------------------------------------- + +So here then endeth the Volume entitled "The Mintage," the same +being Ten Stories and One More written by Elbert Hubbard. The +whole done into a printed book by The Roycrofters at their Shop, +which is in the Village of East Aurora, Erie County, New York +State, this year of Grace mcmx and from the founding of The +Roycroft Shop the Sixteenth. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mintage, by Elbert Hubbard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MINTAGE *** + +***** This file should be named 17504.txt or 17504.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/5/0/17504/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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