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diff --git a/1821-0.txt b/1821-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..93d06d2 --- /dev/null +++ b/1821-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,910 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Charmed Life, by Richard Harding Davis + +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: A Charmed Life + +Author: Richard Harding Davis + +Release Date: May 12, 2006 [EBook #1821] +Last Updated: September 26, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CHARMED LIFE *** + + + + +Produced by Don Lainson + + + + + +A CHARMED LIFE + + +by Richard Harding Davis + + + +She loved him so, that when he went away to a little war in which his +country was interested she could not understand, nor quite forgive. + +As the correspondent of a newspaper, Chesterton had looked on at other +wars; when the yellow races met, when the infidel Turk spanked the +Christian Greek; and one he had watched from inside a British square, +where he was greatly alarmed lest he should be trampled upon by +terrified camels. This had happened before he and she had met. After +they met, she told him that what chances he had chosen to take before +he came into her life fell outside of her jurisdiction. But now that +his life belonged to her, this talk of his standing up to be shot at was +wicked. It was worse than wicked; it was absurd. + +When the Maine sank in Havana harbor and the word “war” was appearing +hourly in hysterical extras, Miss Armitage explained her position. + +“You mustn’t think,” she said, “that I am one of those silly girls who +would beg you not to go to war.” + +At the moment of speaking her cheek happened to be resting against his, +and his arm was about her, so he humbly bent his head and kissed her, +and whispered very proudly and softly, “No, dearest.” + +At which she withdrew from him frowning. + +“No! I’m not a bit like those girls,” she proclaimed. “I merely tell you +YOU CAN’T GO! My gracious!” she cried, helplessly. She knew the words +fell short of expressing her distress, but her education had not +supplied her with exclamations of greater violence. + +“My goodness!” she cried. “How can you frighten me so? It’s not like +you,” she reproached him. “You are so unselfish, so noble. You are +always thinking of other people. How can you talk of going to war--to be +killed--to me? And now, now that you have made me love you so?” + +The hands, that when she talked seemed to him like swallows darting +and flashing in the sunlight, clutched his sleeve. The fingers, that +he would rather kiss than the lips of any other woman that ever lived, +clung to his arm. Their clasp reminded him of that of a drowning child +he had once lifted from the surf. + +“If you should die,” whispered Miss Armitage. “What would I do. What +would I do!” + +“But my dearest,” cried the young man. “My dearest ONE! I’ve GOT to go. +It’s our own war. Everybody else will go,” he pleaded. “Every man you +know, and they’re going to fight, too. I’m going only to look on. That’s +bad enough, isn’t it, without sitting at home? You should be sorry I’m +not going to fight.” + +“Sorry!” exclaimed the girl. “If you love me--” + +“If I love you,” shouted the young man. His voice suggested that he was +about to shake her. “How dare you?” + +She abandoned that position and attacked from one more logical. + +“But why punish me?” she protested. “Do I want the war? Do I want to +free Cuba? No! I want YOU, and if you go, you are the one who is sure +to be killed. You are so big--and so brave, and you will be rushing in +wherever the fighting is, and then--then you will die.” She raised +her eyes and looked at him as though seeing him from a great distance. +“And,” she added fatefully, “I will die, too, or maybe I will have to +live, to live without you for years, for many miserable years.” + +Fearfully, with great caution, as though in his joy in her he might +crush her in his hands, the young man drew her to him and held her +close. After a silence he whispered. “But, you know that nothing can +happen to me. Not now, that God has let me love you. He could not be so +cruel. He would not have given me such happiness to take it from me. A +man who loves you, as I love you, cannot come to any harm. And the man +YOU love is immortal, immune. He holds a charmed life. So long as you +love him, he must live.” + +The eyes of the girl smiled up at him through her tears. She lifted her +lips to his. “Then you will never die!” she said. + +She held him away from her. “Listen!” she whispered. “What you say is +true. It must be true, because you are always right. I love you so that +nothing can harm you. My love will be a charm. It will hang around your +neck and protect you, and keep you, and bring you back to me. When you +are in danger my love will save you. For, while it lives, I live. When +it dies--” + +Chesterton kissed her quickly. + +“What happens then,” he said, “doesn’t matter.” + +The war game had run its happy-go-lucky course briefly and brilliantly, +with “glory enough for all,” even for Chesterton. For, in no previous +campaign had good fortune so persistently stood smiling at his elbow. At +each moment of the war that was critical, picturesque, dramatic, by some +lucky accident he found himself among those present. He could not lose. +Even when his press boat broke down at Cardenas, a Yankee cruiser and +two Spanish gun-boats, apparently for his sole benefit, engaged in an +impromptu duel within range of his megaphone. When his horse went lame, +the column with which he had wished to advance, passed forward to the +front unmolested, while the rear guard, to which he had been forced to +join his fortune, fought its way through the stifling underbrush. + +Between his news despatches, when he was not singing the praises of +his fellow-countrymen, or copying lists of their killed and wounded, he +wrote to Miss Armitage. His letters were scrawled on yellow copy +paper and consisted of repetitions of the three words, “I love you,” + rearranged, illuminated, and intensified. + +Each letter began much in the same way. “The war is still going on. You +can read about it in the papers. What I want you to know is that I love +you as no man ever--” And so on for many pages. + +From her only one of the letters she wrote reached him. It was picked up +in the sand at Siboney after the medical corps, in an effort to wipe out +the yellow-fever, had set fire to the post-office tent. + +She had written it some weeks before from her summer home at Newport, +and in it she said: “When you went to the front, I thought no woman +could love more than I did then. But, now I know. At least I know one +girl who can. She cannot write it. She can never tell you. You must just +believe. + +“Each day I hear from you, for as soon as the paper comes, I take it +down to the rocks and read your cables, and I look south across the +ocean to Cuba, and try to see you in all that fighting and heat and +fever. But I am not afraid. For each morning I wake to find I love you +more; that it has grown stronger, more wonderful, more hard to bear. +And I know the charm I gave you grows with it, and is more powerful, +and that it will bring you back to me wearing new honors, ‘bearing your +sheaves with you.’ + +“As though I cared for your new honors. I want YOU, YOU, YOU--only YOU.” + +When Santiago surrendered and the invading army settled down to arrange +terms of peace, and imbibe fever, and General Miles moved to Porto Rico, +Chesterton moved with him. + +In that pretty little island a command of regulars under a general of +the regular army had, in a night attack, driven back the Spaniards from +Adhuntas. The next afternoon as the column was in line of march, and the +men were shaking themselves into their accoutrements, a dusty, sweating +volunteer staff officer rode down the main street of Adhuntas, and with +the authority of a field marshal, held up his hand. + +“General Miles’s compliments, sir,” he panted, “and peace is declared!” + +Different men received the news each in a different fashion. Some +whirled their hats in the air and cheered. Those who saw promotion and +the new insignia on their straps vanish, swore deeply. Chesterton fell +upon his saddle-bags and began to distribute his possessions among +the enlisted men. After he had remobilized, his effects consisted of a +change of clothes, his camera, water-bottle, and his medicine case. In +his present state of health and spirits he could not believe he stood +in need of the medicine case, but it was a gift from Miss Armitage, and +carried with it a promise from him that he always would carry it. He +had “packed” it throughout the campaign, and for others it had proved of +value. + +“I take it you are leaving us,” said an officer enviously. + +“I am leaving you so quick,” cried Chesterton laughing, “that you won’t +even see the dust. There’s a transport starts from Mayaguez at six +to-morrow morning, and, if I don’t catch it, this pony will die on the +wharf.” + +“The road to Mayaguez is not healthy for Americans,” said the general in +command. “I don’t think I ought to let you go. The enemy does not know +peace is on yet, and there are a lot of guerillas--” + +Chesterton shook his head in pitying wonder. + +“Not let me go!” he exclaimed. “Why, General, you haven’t enough men in +your command to stop me, and as for the Spaniards and guerillas--! I’m +homesick,” cried the young man. “I’m so damned homesick that I am liable +to die of it before the transport gets me to Sandy Hook.” + +“If you are shot up by an outpost,” growled the general, “you will be +worse off than homesick. It’s forty miles to Mayaguez. Better wait till +daylight. Where’s the sense of dying, after the fighting’s over?” + +“If I don’t catch that transport I sure WILL die,” laughed Chesterton. +His head was bent and he was tugging at his saddle girths. Apparently +the effort brought a deeper shadow to his tan, “but nothing else can +kill me! I have a charm, General,” he exclaimed. + +“We hadn’t noticed it,” said the general. + +The staff officers, according to regulations, laughed. + +“It’s not that kind of a charm,” said Chesterton. “Good-by, General.” + +The road was hardly more than a trail, but the moon made it as light +as day, and cast across it black tracings of the swinging vines and +creepers; while high in the air it turned the polished surface of the +palms into glittering silver. As he plunged into the cool depths of the +forest Chesterton threw up his arms and thanked God that he was moving +toward her. The luck that had accompanied him throughout the campaign +had held until the end. Had he been forced to wait for a transport, each +hour would have meant a month of torment, an arid, wasted place in his +life. As it was, with each eager stride of El Capitan, his little Porto +Rican pony, he was brought closer to her. He was so happy that as +he galloped through the dark shadows of the jungle or out into the +brilliant moonlight he shouted aloud and sang; and again as he urged El +Capitan to greater bursts of speed, he explained in joyous, breathless +phrases why it was that he urged him on. + +“For she is wonderful and most beautiful,” he cried, “the most glorious +girl in all the world! And, if I kept her waiting, even for a moment, El +Capitan, I would be unworthy--and I might lose her! So you see we ride +for a great prize!” + +The Spanish column that, the night before, had been driven from +Adhuntas, now in ignorance of peace, occupied both sides of the valley +through which ran the road to Mayaguez, and in ambush by the road itself +had placed an outpost of two men. One was a sharp-shooter of the picked +corps of the Guardia Civile, and one a sergeant of the regiment that lay +hidden in the heights. If the Americans advanced toward Mayaguez, these +men were to wait until the head of the column drew abreast of them, when +they were to fire. The report of their rifles would be the signal for +those in the hill above to wipe out the memory of Adhuntas. + +Chesterton had been riding at a gallop, but, as he reached the place +where the men lay in ambush, he pulled El Capitan to a walk, and took +advantage of his first breathing spell to light his pipe. He had already +filled it, and was now fumbling in his pocket for his match-box. The +match-box was of wood such as one can buy, filled to the brim with +matches, for one penny. But it was a most precious possession. In the +early days of his interest in Miss Armitage, as they were once setting +forth upon a motor trip, she had handed it to him. + +“Why,” he asked. + +“You always forget to bring any,” she said simply, “and have to borrow +some.” + +The other men in the car, knowing this to be a just reproof, laughed +sardonically, and at the laugh the girl had looked up in surprise. +Chesterton, seeing the look, understood that her act, trifling as +it was, had been sincere, had been inspired simply by thought of his +comfort. And he asked himself why young Miss Armitage should consider +his comfort, and why the fact that she did consider it should make him +so extremely happy. And he decided it must be because she loved him and +he loved her. + +Having arrived at that conclusion, he had asked her to marry him, and +upon the match-box had marked the date and the hour. Since then she had +given him many pretty presents, marked with her initials, marked with +his crest, with strange cabalistic mottoes that meant nothing to any one +save themselves. But the wooden matchbox was still the most valued of +his possessions. + +As he rode into the valley the rays of the moon fell fully upon him, and +exposed him to the outpost as pitilessly as though he had been held in +the circle of a search-light. + +The bronzed Mausers pushed cautiously through the screen of vines. There +was a pause, and the rifle of the sergeant wavered. When he spoke his +tone was one of disappointment. + +“He is a scout, riding alone,” he said. + +“He is an officer,” returned the sharp-shooter, excitedly. “The others +follow. We should fire now and give the signal.” + +“He is no officer, he is a scout,” repeated the sergeant. “They have +sent him ahead to study the trail and to seek us. He may be a league in +advance. If we shoot HIM, we only warn the others.” + +Chesterton was within fifty yards. After an excited and anxious +search he had found the match-box in the wrong pocket. The eyes of +the sharp-shooter frowned along the barrel of his rifle. With his chin +pressed against the stock he whispered swiftly from the corner of his +lips, “He is an officer! I am aiming where the strap crosses his heart. +You aim at his belt. We fire together.” + +The heat of the tropic night and the strenuous gallop had covered El +Capitan with a lather of sweat. The reins upon his neck dripped with it. +The gauntlets with which Chesterton held them were wet. As he raised the +matchbox it slipped from his fingers and fell noiselessly in the trail. +With an exclamation he dropped to the road and to his knees, and groping +in the dust began an eager search. + +The sergeant caught at the rifle of the sharpshooter, and pressed it +down. + +“Look!” he whispered. “He IS a scout. He is searching the trail for the +tracks of our ponies. If you fire they will hear it a league away.” + +“But if he finds our trail and returns--” + +The sergeant shook his head. “I let him pass forward,” he said grimly. +“He will never return.” + +Chesterton pounced upon the half-buried matchbox, and in a panic lest he +might again lose it, thrust it inside his tunic. + +“Little do you know, El Capitan,” he exclaimed breathlessly, as he +scrambled back into the saddle and lifted the pony into a gallop, “what +a narrow escape I had. I almost lost it.” + +Toward midnight they came to a wooden bridge swinging above a ravine +in which a mountain stream, forty feet below, splashed over half-hidden +rocks, and the stepping stones of the ford. Even before the campaign +began the bridge had outlived its usefulness, and the unwonted burden of +artillery, and the vibrations of marching men had so shaken it that it +swayed like a house of cards. Threatened by its own weight, at the mercy +of the first tropic storm, it hung a death trap for the one who first +added to its burden. + +No sooner had El Capitan struck it squarely with his four hoofs, than he +reared and, whirling, sprang back to the solid earth. The suddenness of +his retreat had all but thrown Chesterton, but he regained his seat, and +digging the pony roughly with his spurs, pulled his head again toward +the bridge. + +“What are you shying at, now?” he panted. “That’s a perfectly good +bridge.” + +For a minute horse and man struggled for the mastery, the horse spinning +in short circles, the man pulling, tugging, urging him with knees and +spurs. The first round ended in a draw. There were two more rounds with +the advantage slightly in favor of El Capitan, for he did not approach +the bridge. + +The night was warm and the exertion violent. Chesterton, puzzled and +annoyed, paused to regain his breath and his temper. Below him, in +the ravine, the shallow waters of the ford called to him, suggesting a +pleasant compromise. He turned his eyes downward and saw hanging over +the water what appeared to be a white bird upon the lower limb of a +dead tree. He knew it to be an orchid, an especially rare orchid, and he +knew, also, that the orchid was the favorite flower of Miss Armitage. +In a moment he was on his feet, and with the reins over his arm, was +slipping down the bank, dragging El Capitan behind him. He ripped from +the dead tree the bark to which the orchid was clinging, and with wet +moss and grass packed it in his leather camera case. The camera he +abandoned on the path. He always could buy another camera; he could not +again carry a white orchid, plucked in the heart of the tropics on the +night peace was declared, to the girl he left behind him. Followed by El +Capitan, nosing and snuffing gratefully at the cool waters, he waded the +ford, and with his camera case swinging from his shoulder, galloped up +the opposite bank and back into the trail. + +A minute later, the bridge, unable to recover from the death blow struck +by El Capitan, went whirling into the ravine and was broken upon the +rocks below. Hearing the crash behind him, Chesterton guessed that in +the jungle a tree had fallen. + +They had started at six in the afternoon and had covered twenty of the +forty miles that lay between Adhuntas and Mayaguez, when, just at the +outskirts of the tiny village of Caguan, El Capitan stumbled, and when +he arose painfully, he again fell forward. + +Caguan was a little church, a little vine-covered inn, a dozen one-story +adobe houses shining in the moonlight like whitewashed sepulchres. They +faced a grass-grown plaza, in the centre of which stood a great wooden +cross. At one corner of the village was a corral, and in it many ponies. +At the sight Chesterton gave a cry of relief. A light showed through +the closed shutters of the inn, and when he beat with his whip upon the +door, from the adobe houses other lights shone, and white-clad figures +appeared in the moonlight. The landlord of the inn was a Spaniard, fat +and prosperous-looking, but for the moment his face was eloquent with +such distress and misery that the heart of the young man, who was at +peace with all the world, went instantly out to him. The Spaniard was +less sympathetic. When he saw the khaki suit and the campaign hat +he scowled, and ungraciously would have closed the door. Chesterton, +apologizing, pushed it open. His pony, he explained, had gone lame, and +he must have another, and at once. The landlord shrugged his shoulders. +These were war times, he said, and the American officer could take +what he liked. They in Caguan were noncombatants and could not protest. +Chesterton hastened to reassure him. The war, he announced, was over, +and were it not, he was no officer to issue requisitions. He intended +to pay for the pony. He unbuckled his belt and poured upon the table +a handful of Spanish doubloons. The landlord lowered the candle and +silently counted the gold pieces, and then calling to him two of his +fellow-villagers, crossed the tiny plaza and entered the corral. + +“The American pig,” he whispered, “wishes to buy a pony. He tells me the +war is over; that Spain has surrendered. We know that must be a lie. It +is more probable he is a deserter. He claims he is a civilian, but that +also is a lie, for he is in uniform. You, Paul, sell him your pony, and +then wait for him at the first turn in the trail, and take it from him.” + +“He is armed,” protested the one called Paul. + +“You must not give him time to draw his revolver,” ordered the landlord. +“You and Pedro will shoot him from the shadow. He is our country’s +enemy, and it will be in a good cause. And he may carry despatches. If +we take them to the commandante at Mayaguez he will reward us.” + +“And the gold pieces?” demanded the one called Paul. + +“We will divide them in three parts,” said the landlord. + +In the front of the inn, surrounded by a ghostlike group that spoke +its suspicions, Chesterton was lifting his saddle from El Capitan and +rubbing the lame foreleg. It was not a serious sprain. A week would +set it right, but for that night the pony was useless. Impatiently, +Chesterton called across the plaza, begging the landlord to make haste. +He was eager to be gone, alarmed and fearful lest even this slight delay +should cause him to miss the transport. The thought was intolerable. But +he was also acutely conscious that he was very hungry, and he was too +old a campaigner to scoff at hunger. With the hope that he could find +something to carry with him and eat as he rode forward, he entered the +inn. + +The main room of the house was now in darkness, but a smaller room +adjoining it was lit by candles, and by a tiny taper floating before +a crucifix. In the light of the candles Chesterton made out a bed, a +priest bending over it, a woman kneeling beside it, and upon the bed the +little figure of a boy who tossed and moaned. As Chesterton halted and +waited hesitating, the priest strode past him, and in a voice dull and +flat with grief and weariness, ordered those at the door to bring the +landlord quickly. As one of the group leaped toward the corral, the +priest said to the others: “There is another attack. I have lost hope.” + +Chesterton advanced and asked if he could be of service. The priest +shook his head. The child, he said, was the only son of the landlord, +and much beloved by him, and by all the village. He was now in the third +week of typhoid fever and the period of hemorrhages. Unless they could +be checked, the boy would die, and the priest, who for many miles of +mountain and forest was also the only doctor, had exhausted his store of +simple medicines. + +“Nothing can stop the hemorrhage,” he protested wearily, “but the +strongest of drugs. And I have nothing!” + +Chesterton bethought him of the medicine case Miss Armitage had forced +upon him. “I have given opium to the men for dysentery,” he said. “Would +opium help you?” + +The priest sprang at him and pushed him out of the door and toward the +saddle-bags. + +“My children,” he cried, to the silent group in the plaza, “God has sent +a miracle!” + +After an hour at the bedside the priest said, “He will live,” and +knelt, and the mother of the boy and the villagers knelt with him. When +Chesterton raised his eyes, he found that the landlord, who had been +silently watching while the two men struggled with death for the life +of his son, had disappeared. But he heard, leaving the village along the +trail to Mayaguez, the sudden clatter of a pony’s hoofs. It moved like a +thing driven with fear. + +The priest strode out into the moonlight. In the recovery of the child +he saw only a demonstration of the efficacy of prayer, and he could +not too quickly bring home the lesson to his parishioners. Amid their +murmurs of wonder and gratitude Chesterton rode away. To the kindly care +of the priest he bequeathed El Capitan. With him, also, he left the gold +pieces which were to pay for the fresh pony. + +A quarter of a mile outside the village three white figures confronted +him. Two who stood apart in the shadow shrank from observation, but the +landlord, seated bareback upon a pony that from some late exertion was +breathing heavily, called to him to halt. + +“In the fashion of my country,” he began grandiloquently, “we have come +this far to wish you God speed upon your journey.” In the fashion of +the American he seized Chesterton by the hand. “I thank you, senor,” he +murmured. + +“Not me,” returned Chesterton. “But the one who made me ‘pack’ that +medicine chest. Thank her, for to-night I think it saved a life.” + +The Spaniard regarded him curiously, fixing him with his eyes as though +deep in consideration. At last he smiled gravely. + +“You are right,” he said. “Let us both remember her in our prayers.” + +As Chesterton rode away the words remained gratefully in his memory and +filled him with pleasant thoughts. “The world,” he mused, “is full of +just such kind and gentle souls.” + + +After an interminable delay he reached Newport, and they escaped from +the others, and Miss Armitage and he ran down the lawn to the rocks, and +stood with the waves whispering at their feet. + +It was the moment for which each had so often longed, with which both +had so often tortured themselves by living in imagination, that now, +that it was theirs, they were fearful it might not be true. + +Finally, he said: “And the charm never failed! Indeed, it was wonderful! +It stood by me so obviously. For instance, the night before San Juan, +in the mill at El Poso, I slept on the same poncho with another +correspondent. I woke up with a raging appetite for bacon and coffee, +and he woke up out of his mind, and with a temperature of one hundred +and four. And again, I was standing by Capron’s gun at El Caney, when +a shell took the three men who served it, and only scared ME. And there +was another time--” He stopped. “Anyway,” he laughed, “here I am.” + +“But there was one night, one awful night,” began the girl. She +trembled, and he made this an added excuse for drawing her closer to +him. “When I felt you were in great peril, that you would surely die. +And all through the night I knelt by the window and looked toward Cuba +and prayed, and prayed to God to let you live.” + +Chesterton bent his head and kissed the tips of her fingers. After a +moment he said: “Would you know what night it was? It might be curious +if I had been--” + +“Would I know!” cried the girl. “It was eight days ago. The night of the +twelfth. An awful night!” + +“The twelfth!” exclaimed Chesterton, and laughed and then begged her +pardon humbly. “I laughed because the twelfth,” he exclaimed, “was the +night peace was declared. The war was over. I’m sorry, but THAT night I +was riding toward you, thinking only of you. I was never for a moment in +danger.” + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Charmed Life, by Richard Harding Davis + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CHARMED LIFE *** + +***** This file should be named 1821-0.txt or 1821-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/2/1821/ + +Produced by Don Lainson + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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