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diff --git a/20345-h/20345-h.htm b/20345-h/20345-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5a8568a --- /dev/null +++ b/20345-h/20345-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8053 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Old Man Savarin and Other Stories, by Edward William Thomson + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: .8em; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Old Man Savarin and Other Stories, by +Edward William Thomson + +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: Old Man Savarin and Other Stories + +Author: Edward William Thomson + +Release Date: January 12, 2007 [EBook #20345] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD MAN SAVARIN AND OTHER STORIES *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Diane Monico, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images +generously made available by the Canadian Institute for +Historical Microreproductions (www.canadiana.org).) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + +<h3>OFF-HAND STORIES</h3> + + +<h1><span class="smcap">Old Man Savarin</span></h1> + +<h2>And Other Stories<br /><br /><br /></h2> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h2>EDWARD WILLIAM THOMSON<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></h2> + + +<h5>TORONTO:</h5> + +<h5>WILLIAM BRIGGS, WESLEY BUILDINGS.</h5> + +<p class="center">C. W. COATES, <span class="smcap">Montreal, Que</span>. S. F. HUESTIS, <span class="smcap">Halifax</span>, N.S.</p> + +<h5>1895.</h5> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p>Entered, according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year +one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five, by <span class="smcap">William Briggs</span>, Toronto, +in the Office of the Minister of Agriculture, at Ottawa.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.</h2> + + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="toc"> +<tr><td align='right'></td><td align='left'></td><td align='right'>PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>I.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Old Man Savarin</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>II.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Privilege of the Limits</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>III.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">McGrath's Bad Night</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IV.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Great Godfrey's Lament</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>V.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Red-headed Windego</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VI.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Shining Cross of Rigaud</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VII.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Little Baptiste</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VIII.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Ride by Night</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IX.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Drafted</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>X.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Turkey Apiece</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XI.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Grandpapa's Wolf Story</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_219">219</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XII.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Waterloo Veteran</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_239">239</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIII.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">John Bedell</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_251">251</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIV.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Verbitzsky's Stratagem</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_271">271</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><i>For liberty to issue these stories in present +form the author has to thank</i> <span class="smcap">The Youths' +Companion</span>, <i>Boston; the proprietors of "Two +Tales," in which "Old Man Savarin" and "Great +Godfrey's Lament" first appeared; and "Harper's +Weekly" and Mr. S. S. McClure's syndicate of +newspapers, which, respectively, first published +"The Privilege of the Limits" and "John Bedell"</i>.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="OLD_MAN_SAVARIN" id="OLD_MAN_SAVARIN"></a>OLD MAN SAVARIN.</h2> + + +<p>Old Ma'ame Paradis had caught seventeen +small doré, four suckers, and eleven +channel-catfish before she used up all the +worms in her tomato-can. Therefore she was +in a cheerful and loquacious humor when I +came along and offered her some of my bait.</p> + +<p>"Merci; non, M'sieu. Dat's 'nuff fishin' +for me. I got too old now for fish too much. +You like me make you present of six or seven +doré? Yes? All right. Then you make me +present of one quarter dollar."</p> + +<p>When this transaction was completed, the +old lady got out her short black clay pipe, +and filled it with <i>tabac blanc</i>.</p> + +<p>"Ver' good smell for scare mosquitoes," said +she. "Sit down, M'sieu. For sure I like to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +be here, me, for see the river when she's like +this."</p> + +<p>Indeed the scene was more than picturesque. +Her fishing-platform extended twenty feet from +the rocky shore of the great Rataplan Rapid +of the Ottawa, which, beginning to tumble a +mile to the westward, poured a roaring torrent +half a mile wide into the broader, calm brown +reach below. Noble elms towered on the +shores. Between their trunks we could see +many whitewashed cabins, whose doors of blue +or green or red scarcely disclosed their colors +in that light.</p> + +<p>The sinking sun, which already touched the +river, seemed somehow the source of the vast +stream that flowed radiantly from its blaze. +Through the glamour of the evening mist and +the maze of June flies we could see a dozen +men scooping for fish from platforms like that +of Ma'ame Paradis.</p> + +<p>Each scooper lifted a great hoop-net set on +a handle some fifteen feet long, threw it easily<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +up stream, and swept it on edge with the current +to the full length of his reach. Then it +was drawn out and at once thrown upward +again, if no capture had been made. In case +he had taken fish, he came to the inshore edge +of his platform, and upset the net's contents into +a pool separated from the main rapid by an +improvised wall of stones.</p> + +<p>"I'm too old for scoop some now," said +Ma'ame Paradis, with a sigh.</p> + +<p>"You were never strong enough to scoop, +surely," said I.</p> + +<p>"No, eh? All right, M'sieu. Then you +hain't nev' hear 'bout the time Old Man Savarin +was catched up with. No, eh? Well, I'll +tol' you 'bout that." And this was her story +as she told it to me.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Der was fun dose time. Nobody ain't nev' +catch up with dat old rascal ony other time +since I'll know him first. Me, I'll be only fifteen +den. Dat's long time 'go, eh? Well,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +for sure, I ain't so old like what I'll look. +But Old Man Savarin was old already. He's +old, old, old, when he's only thirty; an' <i>mean</i>—<i>baptême!</i> +If de old Nick ain' got de hottest +place for dat old stingy—yes, for sure!</p> + +<p>"You'll see up dere where Frawce Seguin +is scoop? Dat's the Laroque platform by +right. Me, I was a Laroque. My fader was +use for scoop dere, an' my gran'fader—the +Laroques scoop dere all de time since ever +dere was some Rapid Rataplan. Den Old Man +Savarin he's buyed the land up dere from Felix +Ladoucier, an' he's told my fader, 'You can't +scoop no more wisout you pay me rent.'</p> + +<p>"'Rent!' my fader say. '<i>Saprie!</i> Dat's +my fader's platform for scoop fish! You ask +anybody.'</p> + +<p>"'Oh, I'll know all 'bout dat,' Old Man +Savarin is say. 'Ladoucier let you scoop front +of his land, for Ladoucier one big fool. De +lan's mine now, an' de fishin' right is mine. +You can't scoop dere wisout you pay me rent.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p><p>"'<i>Baptême!</i> I'll show you 'bout dat,' my +fader say.</p> + +<p>"Next mawny he is go for scoop same like +always. Den Old Man Savarin is fetch my +fader up before de magistrate. De magistrate +make my fader pay nine shillin'!</p> + +<p>"'Mebbe dat's learn you one lesson,' Old +Man Savarin is say.</p> + +<p>"My fader swear pretty good, but my moder +say: 'Well, Narcisse, dere hain' no use for take +it out in <i>malediction</i>. De nine shillin' is paid. +You scoop more fish—dat's the way.'</p> + +<p>"So my fader he is go out early, early nex' +mawny. He's scoop, he's scoop. He's catch +plenty fish before Old Man Savarin come.</p> + +<p>"'You ain't got 'nuff yet for fishin' on my +land, eh? Come out of dat,' Old Man Savarin +is say.</p> + +<p>"'<i>Saprie!</i> Ain' I pay nine shillin' for fish +here?' my fader say.</p> + +<p>"'<i>Oui</i>—you pay nine shillin' for fish here +<i>wisout</i> my leave. But you ain't pay nothin' for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +fish here <i>wis</i> my leave. You is goin' up before +de magistrate some more.'</p> + +<p>"So he is fetch my fader up anoder time. +An' de magistrate make my fader pay twelve +shillin' more!</p> + +<p>"'Well, I s'pose I can go fish on my fader's +platform now,' my fader is say.</p> + +<p>"Old Man Savarin was laugh. 'Your honor, +dis man tink he don't have for pay me no rent, +because you'll make him pay two fines for trespass +on my land.'</p> + +<p>"So de magistrate told my fader he hain't +got no more right for go on his own platform +than he was at the start. My fader is ver' +angry. He's cry, he's tear his shirt; but +Old Man Savarin only say, 'I guess I learn +you one good lesson, Narcisse.'</p> + +<p>"De whole village ain't told de old rascal +how much dey was angry 'bout dat, for Old Man +Savarin is got dem all in debt at his big store. +He is grin, grin, and told everybody how he +learn my fader two good lesson. An' he is told<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +my fader: 'You see what I'll be goin' for do +wis you if ever you go on my land again wisout +you pay me rent.'</p> + +<p>"'How much you want?' my fader say.</p> + +<p>"'Half de fish you catch.'</p> + +<p>"'<i>Monjee!</i> Never!'</p> + +<p>"'Five dollar a year, den.'</p> + +<p>"'<i>Saprie</i>, no. Dat's too much.'</p> + +<p>"'All right. Keep off my lan', if you hain't +want anoder lesson.'</p> + +<p>"'You's a tief,' my fader say.</p> + +<p>"'Hermidas, make up Narcisse Laroque bill,' +de old rascal say to his clerk. 'If he hain't +pay dat bill to-morrow, I sue him.'</p> + +<p>"So my fader is scare mos' to death. Only +my moder she's say, '<i>I'll</i> pay dat bill, me.'</p> + +<p>"So she's take the money she's saved up long +time for make my weddin' when it come. An' +she's paid de bill. So den my fader hain't +scare no more, an' he is shake his fist good +under Old Man Savarin's ugly nose. But dat +old rascal only laugh an' say, 'Narcisse, you +like to be fined some more, eh?'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p><p>"'<i>Tort Dieu</i>. You rob me of my place for +fish, but I'll take my platform anyhow,' my +fader is say.</p> + +<p>"'Yes, eh? All right—if you can get him +wisout go on my land. But you go on my +land, and see if I don't learn you anoder +lesson,' Old Savarin is say.</p> + +<p>"So my fader is rob of his platform, too. +Nex' ting we hear, Frawce Seguin has rent dat +platform for five dollar a year.</p> + +<p>"Den de big fun begin. My fader an Frawce +is cousin. All de time before den dey was good +friend. But my fader he is go to Frawce +Seguin's place an' he is told him, 'Frawce, +I'll goin' lick you so hard you can't nev' scoop +on my platform.'</p> + +<p>"Frawce only laugh. Den Old Man Savarin +come up de hill.</p> + +<p>"'Fetch him up to de magistrate an' learn +him anoder lesson,' he is say to Frawce.</p> + +<p>"'What for?' Frawce say.</p> + +<p>"'For try to scare you.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'He hain't hurt me none.'</p> + +<p>"'But he's say he will lick you.'</p> + +<p>"'Dat's only because he's vex,' Frawce +say.</p> + +<p>"'<i>Baptême! Non!</i>' my fader say. 'I'll +be goin' for lick you good, Frawce.'</p> + +<p>"'For sure?' Frawce say.</p> + +<p>"'<i>Saprie!</i> Yes; for sure.'</p> + +<p>"'Well, dat's all right den, Narcisse. When +you goin' for lick me?'</p> + +<p>"'First time I'll get drunk. I'll be goin' +for get drunk dis same day.'</p> + +<p>"'All right, Narcisse. If you goin' get drunk +for lick me, I'll be goin' get drunk for lick +you'—<i>Canadien</i> hain't nev' fool 'nuff for fight, +M'sieu, only if dey is got drunk.</p> + +<p>"Well, my fader he's go on old Marceau's +hotel, an' he's drink all day. Frawce Seguin +he's go cross de road on Joe Maufraud's hotel, +an' <i>he's</i> drink all day. When de night come, +dey's bose stand out in front of de two hotel for +fight.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Dey's bose yell an' yell for make de oder +feller scare bad before dey begin. Hermidas +Laronde an' Jawnny Leroi dey's hold my fader +for fear he's go 'cross de road for keel Frawce +Seguin dead. Pierre Seguin an' Magloire Sauve +is hold Frawce for fear he's come 'cross de +road for keel my fader dead. And dose men +fight dat way 'cross de road, till dey hain't +hardly able for stand up no more.</p> + +<p>"My fader he's tear his shirt and he's yell, +'Let me at him!' Frawce he's tear his shirt +and he's yell, 'Let me at him!' But de men +hain't goin' for let dem loose, for fear one is strike +de oder ver' hard. De whole village is shiver +'bout dat offle fight—yes, seh, shiver bad!</p> + +<p>"Well, dey's fight like dat for more as four +hours, till dey hain't able for yell no more, an' +dey hain't got no money left for buy wheeskey +for de crowd. Den Marceau and Joe Maufraud +tol' dem bose it was a shame for two cousins to +fight so bad. An' my fader he's say he's ver' +sorry dat he lick Frawce so hard, and dey's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +bose sorry. So dey's kiss one anoder good—only +all their close is tore to pieces.</p> + +<p>"An' what you tink 'bout Old Man Savarin? +Old Man Savarin is just stand in front of his +store all de time, an' he's say: 'I'll tink I'll +fetch him <i>bose</i> hup to de magistrate, an' I'll +learn him <i>bose</i> a lesson.'</p> + +<p>"Me, I'll be only fifteen, but I hain't scare +'bout dat fight same like my moder is scare. +No more is Alphonsine Seguin scare. She's +seventeen, an' she wait for de fight to be all +over. Den she take her fader home, same like +I'll take my fader home for bed. Dat's after +twelve o'clock of night.</p> + +<p>"Nex' mawny early my fader he's groaned +and he's groaned: 'Ah—ugh—I'm sick, sick, +me. I'll be goin' for die dis time, for sure.'</p> + +<p>"'You get up an' scoop some fish,' my +moder she's say, angry. 'Den you hain't be +sick no more.'</p> + +<p>"'Ach—ugh—I'll hain't be able. Oh, I'll +be so sick. An' I hain' got no place for scoop<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +fish now no more. Frawce Seguin has rob my +platform.'</p> + +<p>"'Take de nex' one lower down,' my moder +she's say.</p> + +<p>"'Dat's Jawnny Leroi's.'</p> + +<p>"'All right for dat. Jawnny he's hire for +run timber to-day.'</p> + +<p>"'Ugh—I'll not be able for get up. Send for +M'sieu le Curé—I'll be goin' for die for sure.'</p> + +<p>"'<i>Mis re</i>, but dat's no <i>man</i>! Dat's a drunk +pig,' my moder she's say, angry. 'Sick, +eh? Lazy, lazy—dat's so. An' dere hain't +no fish for de little chilluns, an' it's Friday +mawny.' So my moder she's begin for cry.</p> + +<p>"Well, M'sieu, I'll make de rest short; for +de sun is all gone now. What you tink I do +dat mawny? I take de big scoop-net an' I'll +come up here for see if I'll be able for scoop +some fish on Jawnny Leroi's platform. Only +dere hain't nev' much fish dere.</p> + +<p>"Pretty quick I'll look up and I'll see +Alphonsine Seguin scoop, scoop on my fader's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +old platform. Alphonsine's fader is sick, sick, +same like my fader, an' all de Seguin boys is +too little for scoop, same like my brudders is +too little. So dere Alphonsine she's scoop, +scoop for breakfas'.</p> + +<p>"What you tink I'll see some more? I'll +see Old Man Savarin. He's watchin' from de +corner of de cedar bush, an' I'll know ver' +good what he's watch for. He's watch for +catch my fader go on his own platform. He's +want for learn my fader anoder lesson. <i>Saprie!</i> +dat's make me ver' angry, M'sieu!</p> + +<p>"Alphonsine she's scoop, scoop plenty fish. +I'll not be scoop none. Dat's make me more +angry. I'll look up where Alphonsine is, an' +I'll talk to myself:—</p> + +<p>"'Dat's my fader's platform,' I'll be say. +'Dat's my fader's fish what you catch, Alphonsine. +You hain't nev' be my cousin no more. +It is mean, mean for Frawce Seguin to rent +my fader's platform for please dat old rascal +Savarin.' Mebby I'll not be so angry at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +Alphonsine, M'sieu, if I was able for catch some +fish; but I hain't able—I don't catch none.</p> + +<p>"Well, M'sieu, dat's de way for long time—half-hour +mebby. Den I'll hear Alphonsine +yell good. I'll look up de river some more. +She's try for lift her net. She's try hard, hard, +but she hain't able. De net is down in de +rapid, an' she's only able for hang on to de +hannle. Den I'll know she's got one big +sturgeon, an' he's so big she can't pull him up.</p> + +<p>"<i>Monjee!</i> what I care 'bout dat! I'll laugh +me. Den I'll laugh good some more, for I'll +want Alphonsine for see how I'll laugh big. +And I'll talk to myself:—</p> + +<p>"'Dat's good for dose Seguins,' I'll say. +'De big sturgeon will pull away de net. Den +Alphonsine she will lose her fader's scoop wis +de sturgeon. Dat's good 'nuff for dose Seguins! +Take my fader platform, eh?'</p> + +<p>"For sure, I'll want for go an' help Alphonsine +all de same—she's my cousin, an' I'll +want for see de sturgeon, me. But I'll only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +just laugh, laugh. <i>Non, M'sieu</i>; dere was not +one man out on any of de oder platform dat +mawny for to help Alphonsine. Dey was all +sleep ver' late, for dey was all out ver' late for +see de offle fight I told you 'bout.</p> + +<p>"Well, pretty quick, what you tink? I'll see +Old Man Savarin goin' to my fader's platform. +He's take hold for help Alphonsine an' dey's +bose pull, and pretty quick de big sturgeon is +up on de platform. I'll be more angry as +before.</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>tort Dieu!</i> What you tink come den? +Why, dat Old Man Savarin is want for take de +sturgeon!</p> + +<p>"First dey hain't speak so I can hear, for +de Rapid is too loud. But pretty quick dey's +bose angry, and I hear dem talk.</p> + +<p>"'Dat's my fish,' Old Man Savarin is say. +'Didn't I save him? Wasn't you goin' for +lose him, for sure?'</p> + +<p>"Me—I'll laugh good. Dass <i>such</i> an old +rascal.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p><p>"'You get off dis platform, quick!' Alphonsine +she's say.</p> + +<p>"'Give me my sturgeon,' he's say.</p> + +<p>"'Dat's a lie—it hain't your sturgeon. +It's <i>my</i> sturgeon,' she's yell.</p> + +<p>"'I'll learn you one lesson 'bout dat,' he's +say.</p> + +<p>"Well, M'sieu, Alphonsine she's pull back de +fish just when Old Man Savarin is make one +grab. An' when she's pull back, she's step to +one side, an' de old rascal he is, grab at de fish, +an' de heft of de sturgeon is make him fall on +his face, so he's tumble in de Rapid when +Alphonsine let go de sturgeon. So dere's Old +Man Savarin floating in de river—and <i>me</i>! +I'll don' care eef he's drown one bit!</p> + +<p>"One time he is on his back, one time he is +on his face, one time he is all under de water. +For sure he's goin' for be draw into de <i>culbute</i> +an' get drown' dead, if I'll not be able for +scoop him when he's go by my platform. +I'll want for laugh, but I'll be too much +scare.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p><p>"Well, M'sieu, I'll pick up my fader's scoop +and I'll stand out on de edge of de platform. +De water is run so fast, I'm mos' 'fraid de old +man is boun' for pull me in when I'll scoop +him. But I'll not mind for dat, I'll throw de +scoop an' catch him; an' for sure, he's hold +on good.</p> + +<p>"So dere's de old rascal in de scoop, but +when I'll get him safe, I hain't able for pull +him in one bit. I'll only be able for hold +on an' laugh, laugh—he's look <i>ver</i>' queer! +All I can do is to hold him dere so he can't +go down de <i>culbute</i>. I'll can't pull him up if +I'll want to.</p> + +<p>"De old man is scare ver' bad. But pretty +quick he's got hold of de cross-bar of de hoop, +an' he's got his ugly old head up good.</p> + +<p>"'Pull me in,' he say, ver' angry.</p> + +<p>"'I'll hain't be able,' I'll say.</p> + +<p>"Jus' den Alphonsine she come 'long, an' +she's laugh so she can't hardly hold on wis me +to de hannle. I was laugh good some more.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +When de old villain see us have fun, he's yell: +'I'll learn you bose one lesson for this. Pull +me ashore!'</p> + +<p>"'Oh! you's learn, us bose one lesson, +M'sieu Savarin, eh?' Alphonsine she's say. +'Well, den, us bose will learn M'sieu Savarin +one lesson first. Pull him up a little,' she's +say to me.</p> + +<p>"So we pull him up, an' den Alphonsine she's +say to me: 'Let out de hannle, quick'—and +he's under de water some more. When we +stop de net, he's got hees head up pretty quick.</p> + +<p>"'<i>Monjee!</i> I'll be drown' if you don't pull +me out,' he's mos' <i>cry</i>.</p> + +<p>"'Ver' well—if you's drown, your family +be ver' glad,' Alphonsine she's say. 'Den +they's got all your money for spend quick, +quick.'</p> + +<p>"M'sieu, dat scare him offle. He's begin +for cry like one baby.</p> + +<p>"'Save me out,' he's say. 'I'll give you +anything I've got.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p><p>"'How much?' Alphonsine she's say.</p> + +<p>"He's tink, and he's say, 'Quarter dollar.'</p> + +<p>"Alphonsine an' me is laugh, laugh.</p> + +<p>"'Save me,' he's cry some more. 'I hain't +fit for die dis mawny.'</p> + +<p>"'You hain' fit for live no mawny,' Alphonsine +she's say. 'One quarter dollar, eh? Where's +my sturgeon?'</p> + +<p>"'He's got away when, I fall in,' he's say.</p> + +<p>"'How much you goin' give me for lose my +big sturgeon?' she's ask.</p> + +<p>"'How much you'll want, Alphonsine?'</p> + +<p>"'Two dollare.'</p> + +<p>"'Dat's too much for one sturgeon,' he's +say. For all he was not feel fit for die, he +was more 'fraid for pay out his money.</p> + +<p>"'Let him down some more,' Alphonsine +she's say.</p> + +<p>"'Oh. <i>misère, misère</i>! I'll pay de two +dollare,' he's say when his head come up some +more.</p> + +<p>"'Ver' well, den,' Alphonsine she's say; 'I'll<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +be willin' for save you, <i>me</i>. But you hain't +scooped by <i>me</i>. You's in Marie's net. I'll +only come for help Marie. You's her sturgeon;' +an' Alphonsine she's laugh an' laugh.</p> + +<p>"'I didn't lose no sturgeon for Marie,' he's +say.</p> + +<p>"'No, eh?" I'll say mysef. 'But you's +steal my fader's platform. You's take his +fishin' place. You's got him fined two times. +You's make my moder pay his bill wis <i>my</i> +weddin' money. What you goin' pay for all +dat? You tink I'll be goin' for mos' kill mysef +pullin' you out for noting? When you ever +do someting for anybody for noting, eh, M'sieu +Savarin?'</p> + +<p>"'How much you want?' he's say.</p> + +<p>"'Ten dollare for de platform, dat's all.'</p> + +<p>"'Never—dat's robbery,' he's say, an' he's +begin to cry like <i>ver</i>' li'll baby.</p> + +<p>"'Pull him hup, Marie, an' give him some +more,' Alphonsine she's say.</p> + +<p>"But de old rascal is so scare 'bout dat, dat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +he's say he's pay right off. So we's pull him +up near to de platform, only we hain't big +'nuff fool for let him out of de net till he's take +out his purse an' pay de twelve dollare.</p> + +<p>"<i>Monjee</i>, M'sieu! If ever you see one angry +old rascal! He not even stop for say: 'T'ank +you for save me from be drown' dead in the +<i>culbute</i>!' He's run for his house an' he's put +on dry clo'es, an' he's go up to de magistrate +first ting for learn me an' Alphonsine one big +lesson.</p> + +<p>"But de magistrate hain' ver' bad magistrate. +He's only laugh an' he's say:—</p> + +<p>"'M'sieu Savarin, de whole river will be laugh +at you for let two young girl take eet out of +smart man like you like dat. Hain't you tink +your life worth twelve dollare? Didn't dey +save you from de <i>culbute</i>? <i>Monjee!</i> I'll tink +de whole river not laugh so ver' bad if you pay +dose young girl one hunder dollare for save +you so kind.'</p> + +<p>"'One hunder dollare!' he's mos' cry.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +'Hain't you goin' to learn dose girl one lesson +for take advantage of me dat way?'</p> + +<p>"'Didn't you pay dose girl yoursef? Didn't +you took out your purse yoursef? Yes, eh? +Well, den, I'll goin' for learn you one lesson +yoursef, M'sieu Savarin.' de magistrate is say. +'Dose two young girl is ver' wicked, eh? Yes, +dat's so. But for why? Hain't dey just do to +you what you been doin' ever since you was in +beesness? Don' I know? You hain' never +yet got advantage of nobody wisout you rob +him all you can, an' dose wicked young girl +only act just like you give dem a lesson all your +life.'</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"An' de best fun was de whole river <i>did</i> +laugh at M'sieu Savarin. An' my fader and +Frawce Seguin is laugh most of all, till he's +catch hup wis bose of dem anoder time. You +come for see me some more, an' I'll tol' you +'bout dat."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_PRIVILEGE_OF_THE_LIMITS" id="THE_PRIVILEGE_OF_THE_LIMITS"></a>THE PRIVILEGE OF THE LIMITS.</h2> + + +<p>"Yes, indeed, my grandfather wass once in +jail," said old Mrs. McTavish, of the +county of Glengarry, in Ontario, Canada; "but +that wass for debt, and he wass a ferry honest +man whateffer, and he would not broke his +promise—no, not for all the money in Canada. +If you will listen to me, I will tell chust exactly +the true story about that debt, to show you what +an honest man my grandfather wass.</p> + +<p>"One time Tougal Stewart, him that wass the +poy's grandfather that keeps the same store in +Cornwall to this day, sold a plough to my grandfather, +and my grandfather said he would pay +half the plough in October, and the other half +whateffer time he felt able to pay the money. +Yes, indeed, that was the very promise my +grandfather gave.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p><p>"So he was at Tougal Stewart's store on the +first of October early in the morning pefore the +shutters wass taken off, and he paid half chust +exactly to keep his word. Then the crop wass +ferry pad next year, and the year after that one +of his horses wass killed py lightning, and the +next year his brother, that wass not rich and +had a big family, died, and do you think wass +my grandfather to let the family be disgraced +without a good funeral? No, indeed. So my +grandfather paid for the funeral, and there was +at it plenty of meat and drink for eferypody, +as wass the right Hielan' custom those days; +and after the funeral my grandfather did not +feel chust exactly able to pay the other half for +the plough that year either.</p> + +<p>"So, then, Tougal Stewart met my grandfather +in Cornwall next day after the funeral, +and asked him if he had some money to +spare.</p> + +<p>"'Wass you in need of help, Mr. Stewart?' +says my grandfather, kindly. 'For if it's in any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +want you are, Tougal,' says my grandfather, 'I +will sell the coat off my back, if there is no +other way to lend you a loan;' for that was +always the way of my grandfather with all his +friends, and a bigger-hearted man there never +wass in all Glengarry, or in Stormont, or in +Dundas, moreofer.</p> + +<p>"'In want!' says Tougal—'in want, Mr. +McTavish!' says he, very high. 'Would you +wish to insult a gentleman, and him of the name +of Stewart, that's the name of princes of the +world?' he said, so he did.</p> + +<p>"Seeing Tougal had his temper up, my +grandfather spoke softly, being a quiet, peaceable +man, and in wonder what he had said to +offend Tougal.</p> + +<p>"'Mr. Stewart,' says my grandfather, 'it wass +not in my mind to anger you whatefer. Only +I thought, from your asking me if I had some +money, that you might be looking for a wee bit +of a loan, as many a gentleman has to do at +times, and no shame to him at all,' said my +grandfather.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p><p>"'A loan?' says Tougal, sneering. 'A loan, +is it? Where's your memory, Mr. McTavish? +Are you not owing me half the price of the +plough you've had these three years?'</p> + +<p>"'And wass you asking me for money for +the other half of the plough?' says my grandfather, +very astonished.</p> + +<p>"'Just that,' says Tougal.</p> + +<p>"'Have you no shame or honor in you?' +says my grandfather, firing up. 'How could I +feel able to pay that now, and me chust yesterday +been giving my poor brother a funeral fit +for the McTavishes' own grand-nephew, that +wass as good chentleman's plood as any Stewart +in Glengarry. You saw the expense I wass at, +for there you wass, and I thank you for the +politeness of coming, Mr. Stewart,' says my +grandfather, ending mild, for the anger would +never stay in him more than a minute, so kind +was the nature he had.</p> + +<p>"'If you can spend money on a funeral like +that, you can pay me for my plough,' says<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +Stewart; for with buying and selling he wass +become a poor creature, and the heart of a +Hielan'man wass half gone out of him, for all +he wass so proud of his name of monarchs and +kings.</p> + +<p>"My grandfather had a mind to strike him +down on the spot, so he often said; but he +thought of the time when he hit Hamish Cochrane +in anger, and he minded the penances the +priest put on him for breaking the silly man's +jaw with that blow, so he smothered the heat +that wass in him, and turned away in scorn. +With that Tougal Stewart went to court, and +sued my grandfather, puir mean creature.</p> + +<p>"You might think that Judge Jones—him +that wass judge in Cornwall before Judge Jarvis +that's dead—would do justice. But no, he +made it the law that my grandfather must pay +at once, though Tougal Stewart could not deny +what the bargain wass.</p> + +<p>"'Your Honor,' says my grandfather, 'I +said I'd pay when I felt able. And do I feel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +able now? No, I do not,' says he. 'It's a +disgrace to Tougal Stewart to ask me, and himself +telling you what the bargain was,' said my +grandfather. But Judge Jones said that he +must pay, for all that he did not feel able.</p> + +<p>"'I will nefer pay one copper till I feel +able,' says my grandfather; 'but I'll keep my +Hielan' promise to my dying day, as I always +done,' says he.</p> + +<p>"And with that the old judge laughed, and +said he would have to give judgment. And so +he did; and after that Tougal Stewart got out +an execution. But not the worth of a handful +of oatmeal could the bailiff lay hands on, because +my grandfather had chust exactly taken +the precaution to give a bill of sale on his gear +to his neighbor, Alexander Frazer, that could +be trusted to do what was right after the law +play was over.</p> + +<p>"The whole settlement had great contempt +for Tougal Stewart's conduct; but he was a +headstrong body, and once he begun to do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +wrong against my grandfather, he held on, for +all that his trade fell away; and finally he had +my grandfather arrested for debt, though you'll +understand, sir, that he was owing Stewart +nothing that he ought to pay when he didn't +feel able.</p> + +<p>"In those times prisoners for debt was taken +to jail in Cornwall, and if they had friends to +give bail that they would not go beyond the +posts that was around the sixteen acres nearest +the jail walls, the prisoners could go where they +liked on that ground. This was called 'the +privilege of the limits.' The limits, you'll +understand, wass marked by cedar posts painted +white about the size of hitching-posts.</p> + +<p>"The whole settlement was ready to go bail +for my grandfather if he wanted it, and for the +health of him he needed to be in the open air, +and so he gave Tuncan-Macdonnell of the +Greenfields, and Æneas Macdonald of the +Sandfields, for his bail, and he promised, on his +Hielan' word of honor, not to go beyond the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +posts. With that he went where he pleased, +only taking care that he never put even the toe +of his foot beyond a post, for all that some +prisoners of the limits would chump ofer them +and back again, or maybe swing round them, +holding by their hands.</p> + +<p>"Efery day the neighbors would go into +Cornwall to give my grandfather the good word, +and they would offer to pay Tougal Stewart for +the other half of the plough, only that vexed my +grandfather, for he was too proud to borrow, +and, of course, every day he felt less and less +able to pay on account of him having to hire +a man to be doing the spring ploughing and +seeding and making the kale-yard.</p> + +<p>"All this time, you'll mind, Tougal Stewart +had to pay five shillings a week for my grandfather's +keep, the law being so that if the debtor +swore he had not five pound's worth of property +to his name, then the creditor had to pay the +five shillings, and, of course, my grandfather had +nothing to his name after he gave the bill of sale<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +to Alexander Frazer. A great diversion it was +to my grandfather to be reckoning up that if he +lived as long as his father, that was hale and +strong at ninety-six, Tougal would need to pay +five or six hundred pounds for him, and there +was only two pound five shillings to be paid +on the plough.</p> + +<p>"So it was like that all summer, my grandfather +keeping heartsome, with the neighbors +coming in so steady to bring him the news of +the settlement. There he would sit, just inside +one of the posts, for to pass his jokes, and tell +what he wished the family to be doing next. +This way it might have kept going on for forty +years, only it came about that my grandfather's +youngest child—him that was my father—fell +sick, and seemed like to die.</p> + +<p>"Well, when my grandfather heard that bad +news, he wass in a terrible way, to be sure, for +he would be longing to hold the child in his +arms, so that his heart was sore and like to +break. Eat he could not, sleep he could not:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +all night he would be groaning, and all day he +would be walking around by the posts, wishing +that he had not passed his Hielan' word of +honor not to go beyond a post; for he thought +how he could have broken out like a chentleman, +and gone to see his sick child, if he had +stayed inside the jail wall. So it went on three +days and three nights pefore the wise thought +came into my grandfather's head to show him +how he need not go beyond the posts to see his +little sick poy. With that he went straight to +one of the white cedar posts, and pulled it up +out of the hole, and started for home, taking +great care to carry it in his hands pefore him, +so he would not be beyond it one bit.</p> + +<p>"My grandfather wass not half a mile out of +Cornwall, which was only a little place in those +days, when two of the turnkeys came after him.</p> + +<p>"'Stop, Mr. McTavish,' says the turnkeys.</p> + +<p>"'What for would I stop?' says my grandfather.</p> + +<p>"'You have broke your bail,' says they.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p><p>"'It's a lie for you,' says my grandfather, for +his temper flared up for anybody to say he +would broke his bail. 'Am I beyond the +post?' says my grandfather.</p> + +<p>"With that they run in on him, only that he +knocked the two of them over with the post, and +went on rejoicing, like an honest man should, +at keeping his word and overcoming them that +would slander his good name. The only thing +pesides thoughts of the child that troubled him +was questioning whether he had been strictly +right in turning round for to use the post to +defend himself in such a way that it was nearer +the jail than what he wass. But when he +remembered how the jailer never complained of +prisoners of the limits chumping ofer the posts, +if so they chumped back again in a moment, +the trouble went out of his mind.</p> + +<p>"Pretty soon after that he met Tuncan Macdonnell +of Greenfields, coming into Cornwall +with the wagon.</p> + +<p>"'And how is this, Glengatchie?' says Tuncan.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +'For you were never the man to broke +your bail.'</p> + +<p>"Glengatchie, you'll understand, sir, is the +name of my grandfather's farm.</p> + +<p>"'Never fear, Greenfields,' says my grandfather, +'for I'm not beyond the post.'</p> + +<p>"So Greenfields looked at the post, and he +looked at my grandfather, and he scratched his +head a wee, and he seen it was so; and then +he fell into a great admiration entirely.</p> + +<p>"'Get in with me, Glengatchie—it's proud +I'll be to carry you home;' and he turned his +team around. My grandfather did so, taking +great care to keep the post in front of him all +the time; and that way he reached home. Out +comes my grandmother running to embrace +him; but she had to throw her arms around +the post and my grandfather's neck at the same +time, he was that strict to be within his promise. +Pefore going ben the house, he went to the +back end of the kale-yard which was farthest +from the jail, and there he stuck the post; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +then he went back to see his sick child, while +all the neighbors that came round was glad to +see what a wise thought the saints had put into +his mind to save his bail and his promise.</p> + +<p>"So there he stayed a week till my father got +well. Of course the constables came after my +grandfather, but the settlement would not let +the creatures come within a mile of Glengatchie. +You might think, sir, that my grandfather would +have stayed with his wife and weans, seeing the +post was all the time in the kale-yard, and him +careful not to go beyond it; but he was putting +the settlement to a great deal of trouble day +and night to keep the constables off, and he +was fearful that they might take the post away, +if ever they got to Glengatchie, and give him +the name of false, that no McTavish ever had. +So Tuncan Greenfields and Æneas Sandfield +drove my grandfather back to the jail, him with +the post behind him in the wagon, so as he +would be between it and the jail. Of course +Tougal Stewart tried his best to have the bail<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +declared forfeited; but old Judge Jones only +laughed, and said my grandfather was a Hielan' +gentleman, with a very nice sense of honor, and +that was chust exactly the truth.</p> + +<p>"How did my grandfather get free in the +end? Oh, then, that was because of Tougal +Stewart being careless—him that thought he +knew so much of the law. The law was, you +will mind, that Tougal had to pay five shillings +a week for keeping my grandfather in the limits. +The money wass to be paid efery Monday, and +it was to be paid in lawful money of Canada, +too. Well, would you belief that Tougal paid +in four shillings in silver one Monday, and one +shilling in coppers, for he took up the collection +in church the day pefore, and it wass not till +Tougal had gone away that the jailer saw that +one of the coppers was a Brock copper,—a +medal, you will understand, made at General +Brock's death, and not lawful money of Canada +at all. With that the jailer came out to my +grandfather.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> +<p>"'Mr. McTavish,' says he, taking off his hat, +'you are a free man, and I'm glad of it.' Then +he told him what Tougal had done.</p> + +<p>"'I hope you will not have any hard feelings +toward me, Mr. McTavish,' said the jailer; and +a decent man he wass, for all that there wass not +a drop of Hielan' blood in him. 'I hope you +will not think hard of me for not being hospitable +to you, sir,' says he; 'but it's against the +rules and regulations for the jailer to be offering +the best he can command to the prisoners. +Now that you are free, Mr. McTavish,' says the +jailer, 'I would be a proud man if Mr. McTavish +of Glengatchie would do me the honor of taking +supper with me this night. I will be asking +your leave to invite some of the gentlemen of +the place, if you will say the word, Mr. McTavish,' +says he.</p> + +<p>"Well, my grandfather could never bear +malice, the kind man he was, and he seen how +bad the jailer felt, so he consented, and a great +company came in, to be sure, to celebrate the +occasion.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p><p>"Did my grandfather pay the balance on the +plough? What for should you suspicion, sir, +that my grandfather would refuse his honest +debt? Of course he paid for the plough, for +the crop was good that fall.</p> + +<p>"'I would be paying you the other half of +the plough now, Mr. Stewart,' says my grandfather, +coming in when the store was full.</p> + +<p>"'Hoich, but <span class="smcap">you</span> are the honest McTavish!' +says Tougal, sneering.</p> + +<p>"But my grandfather made no answer to the +creature, for he thought it would be unkind to +mention how Tougal had paid out six pounds +four shillings and eleven pence to keep him in +on account of a debt of two pound five that +never was due till it was paid."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="McGRATHS_BAD_NIGHT" id="McGRATHS_BAD_NIGHT"></a>McGRATH'S BAD NIGHT.</h2> + + +<p>"Come then, childer," said Mrs. McGrath, +and took the big iron pot off. They +crowded around her, nine of them, the eldest +not more than thirteen, the youngest just big +enough to hold out his yellow crockery bowl.</p> + +<p>"The youngest first," remarked Mrs. McGrath, +and ladled out a portion of the boiled corn-meal +to each of the deplorable boys and girls. +Before they reached the stools from which they +had sprung up, or squatted again on the rough +floor, they all burned their mouths in tasting +the mush too eagerly. Then there they sat, +blowing into their bowls, glaring into them, lifting +their loaded iron spoons occasionally to +taste cautiously, till the mush had somewhat +cooled.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p><p>Then, <i>gobble-de-gobble-de-gobble</i>, it was all +gone! Though they had neither sugar, nor +milk, nor butter to it, they found it a remarkably +excellent sample of mush, and wished only +that, in quantity, it had been something more.</p> + +<p>Peter McGrath sat close beside the cooking-stove, +holding Number Ten, a girl-baby, who +was asleep, and rocking Number Eleven, who +was trying to wake up, in the low, unpainted +cradle. He never took his eyes off Number +Eleven; he could not bear to look around and +see the nine devouring the corn-meal so hungrily. +Perhaps McGrath could not, and certainly +he would not,—he was so obstinate,—have +told why he felt so reproached by the +scene. He had felt very guilty for many weeks.</p> + +<p>Twenty, yes, a hundred times a day he +looked in a dazed way at his big hands, and +they reproached him, too, that they had no +work.</p> + +<p>"Where is our smooth, broad-axe handle?" +asked the fingers, "and why do not the wide +chips fly?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> +<p>He was ashamed, too, every time he rose up, +so tall and strong, with nothing to do, and +eleven children and his wife next door to starvation; +but if he had been asked to describe +his feelings, he would merely have growled out +angrily something against old John Pontiac.</p> + +<p>"You'll take your sup now, Peter?" asked +Mrs. McGrath, offering him the biggest of the +yellow bowls. He looked up then, first at her +forlorn face, then at the pot. Number Nine +was diligently scraping off some streaks of +mush that had run down the outside; Numbers +Eight, Seven, Six, and Five were looking respectfully +into the pot; Numbers Four, Three, +Two, and One were watching the pot, the steaming +bowl, and their father at the same time. +Peter McGrath was very hungry.</p> + +<p>"Yourself had better eat, Mary Ann," he +said. "I'll be having mine after it's cooler."</p> + +<p>Mrs. McGrath dipped more than a third of +the bowlful back into the pot, and ate the rest +with much satisfaction. The numerals watched +her anxiously but resignedly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> +<p>"Sure it'll be cold entirely, Peter dear," she +said, "and the warmth is so comforting. Give +me little Norah now, the darlint! and be after +eating your supper."</p> + +<p>She had ladled out the last spoonful of mush, +and the pot was being scraped inside earnestly +by Nine, Eight, Seven, and Six. Peter took the +bowl, and looked at his children.</p> + +<p>The earlier numbers were observing him with +peculiar sympathy, putting themselves in his +place, as it were, possessing the bowl in imagination; +the others now moved their spoons +absent-mindedly around in the pot, brought +them empty to their mouths, mechanically, now +and again, sucked them more or less, and still +stared steadily at their father.</p> + +<p>His inner walls felt glued together, yet indescribably +hollow; the smell of the mush went +up into his nostrils, and pungently provoked his +palate and throat. He was famishing.</p> + +<p>"Troth, then, Mary Ann," he said, "there's +no hunger in me to-night. Sure, I wish the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +childer wouldn't leave me the trouble of eating +it. Come, then, all of ye!"</p> + +<p>The nine came promptly to his call. There +were just twenty-two large spoonfuls in the +bowl; each child received two; the remaining +four went to the four youngest. Then the bowl +was skilfully scraped by Number Nine, after +which Number Seven took it, whirled a cup of +water artfully round its interior, and with this +put a fine finish on his meal.</p> + +<p>Peter McGrath then searched thoughtfully in +his trousers pockets, turning their corners up, +getting pinches of tobacco dust out of their +remotest recesses; he put his blouse pocket +through a similar process. He found no pockets +in his well-patched overcoat when he took it +down, but he pursued the dust into its lining, +and separated it carefully from little dabs of +wool. Then he put the collection into an +extremely old black clay pipe, lifted a coal in +with his fingers, and took his supper.</p> + +<p>It would be absurd to assert that, on this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +continent, a strong man could be so poor as +Peter, unless he had done something very wrong +or very foolish. Peter McGrath was, in truth, +out of work because he had committed an outrage +on economics. He had been guilty of +the enormous error of misunderstanding, and +trying to set at naught in his own person, the +immutable law of supply and demand.</p> + +<p>Fancying that a first-class hewer in a timber +shanty had an inalienable right to receive at +least thirty dollars a month, when the demand +was only strong enough to yield him twenty-two +dollars a month, Peter had refused to engage at +the beginning of the winter.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mr. McGrath, you're making a mistake," +said his usual employer, old John Pontiac. +"I'm offering you the best wages going, +mind that. There's mighty little squared timber +coming out this winter."</p> + +<p>"I'm ready and willing to work, boss, but +I'm fit to arn thirty dollars, surely."</p> + +<p>"So you are, so you are, in good times,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +neighbor, and I'd be glad if men's wages were +forty. That could only be with trade active, +and a fine season for all of us; but I couldn't +take out a raft this winter, and pay what you +ask."</p> + +<p>"I'd work extra hard. I'm not afeard of +work."</p> + +<p>"Not you, Peter. There never was a lazy +bone in your body. Don't I know that well? +But look, now: if I was to pay you thirty, I +should have to pay all the other hewers thirty; +and that's not all. Scorers and teamsters and +road-cutters are used to getting wages in proportion +to hewers. Why, it would cost me a +thousand dollars a month to give you thirty! +Go along, now, that's a good fellow, and tell +your wife that you've hired with me."</p> + +<p>But Peter did not go back. "I'm bound to +have my rights, so I am," he said sulkily to +Mary Ann when he reached the cabin. "The +old boss is getting too hard like, and set on +money. Twenty-two dollars! No! I'll go in +to Stambrook and hire."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> +<p>Mary Ann knew that she might as well try to +convince a saw-log that its proper course was +up-stream, as to protest against Peter's obstinacy. +Moreover, she did think the offered +wages very low, and had some hope he might +better himself; but when he came back from +Stambrook, she saw trouble ahead. He did not +tell her that there, where his merit's were not +known, he had been offered only twenty dollars, +but she surmised his disappointment.</p> + +<p>"You'd better be after seeing the boss again, +maybe, Peter dear," she said timidly.</p> + +<p>"Not a step," he answered. "The boss'll +be after me in a few days, you'll see." But +there he was mistaken, for all the gangs were +full.</p> + +<p>After that Peter McGrath tramped far and +wide, to many a backwoods hamlet, looking +vainly for a job at any wages. The season was +the worst ever known on the river, and before +January the shanties were discharging men, so +threatening was the outlook for lumbermen,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +and so glutted with timber the markets of the +world.</p> + +<p>Peter's conscience accused him every hour, +but he was too stubborn to go back to John +Pontiac. Indeed, he soon got it into his stupid +head that the old boss was responsible for his +misfortunes, and he consequently came to hate +Mr. Pontiac very bitterly.</p> + +<p>After supping on his pipeful of tobacco-dust, +Peter sat, straight-backed, leaning elbows on +knees and chin on hands, wondering what on +earth was to become of them all next day. For +a man out of work there was not a dollar of +credit at the little village store; and work! +why, there was only one kind of work at which +money could be earned in that district in the +winter.</p> + +<p>When his wife took Number Eleven's cradle +into the other room, she heard him, through +the thin partition of upright boards, pasted +over with newspapers, moving round in the +dim red flickering fire-light from the stove-grating.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> +<p>The children were all asleep, or pretending +it; Number Ten in the big straw bed, where she +lay always between her parents; Number Eleven +in her cradle beside; Nine crosswise at the +foot; Eight, Seven, Six, Five, and Four in the +other bed; One, Two, and Three curled up, +without taking off their miserable garments, on +the "locks" of straw beside the kitchen stove.</p> + +<p>Mary Ann knew very well what Peter was +moving round for. She heard him groan, so +low that he did not know he groaned, when he +lifted off the cover of the meal barrel, and could +feel nothing whatever therein. She had actually +beaten the meal out of the cracks to make that +last pot of mush. He knew that all the fish he +had salted down in the summer were gone, that +the flour was all out, that the last morsel of the +pig had been eaten up long ago; but he went to +each of the barrels as though he could not +realize that there was really nothing left. There +were four of those low groans.</p> + +<p>"O God, help him! do help him! please<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +do!" she kept saying to herself. Somehow, +all her sufferings and the children's were light +to her, in comparison, as she listened to that +big, taciturn man groan, and him sore with the +hunger.</p> + +<p>When at last she came out, Peter was not +there. He had gone out silently, so silently +that she wondered, and was scared. She opened +the door very softly, and there he was, leaning +on the rail fence between their little rocky plot +and the great river. She closed the door +softly, and sat down.</p> + +<p>There was a wide steaming space in the +river, where the current ran too swiftly for any +ice to form. Peter gazed on it for a long while. +The mist had a friendly look; he was soon +reminded of the steam from an immense bowl +of mush! It vexed him. He looked up at the +moon. The moon was certainly mocking him; +dashing through light clouds, then jumping into +a wide, clear space, where it soon became +motionless, and mocked him steadily.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> +<p>He had never known old John Pontiac to +jeer any one, but there was his face in that +moon,—Peter made it out quite clearly. He +looked up the road to where he could see, on +the hill half a mile distant, the shimmer of +John Pontiac's big tin-roofed house. He +thought he could make out the outlines of all +the buildings,—he knew them so well,—the +big barn, the stable, the smoke-house, the +store-house for shanty supplies.</p> + +<p>Pork barrels, flour barrels, herring kegs, +syrup kegs, sides of frozen beef, hams and +flitches of bacon in the smoke-house, bags of +beans, chests of tea,—he had a vision of them +all! Teamsters going off to the woods daily +with provisions, the supply apparently inexhaustible.</p> + +<p>And John Pontiac had refused to pay him +fair wages!</p> + +<p>Peter in exasperation shook his big fist at +the moon; it mocked him worse than ever. +Then out went his gaze to the space of mist;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +it was still more painfully like mush steam. +His pigsty was empty, except of snow; it +made him think again of the empty barrels in +the cabin.</p> + +<p>The children empty too, or would be to-morrow,—as +empty as he felt that minute. +How dumbly the elder ones would reproach +him! and what would comfort the younger +ones crying with hunger?</p> + +<p>Peter looked again up the hill, through the +walls of the store-house. He was dreadfully +hungry.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"John! John!" Mrs. Pontiac jogged her +husband. "John, wake up! there's somebody +trying to get into the smoke-house."</p> + +<p>"Eh—ugh—ah! I'm 'sleep—ugh." He +relapsed again.</p> + +<p>"John! John! wake up! There <i>is</i> somebody!"</p> + +<p>"What—ugh—eh—what you say?"</p> + +<p>"There's somebody getting into the smoke-house."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> +<p>"Well, there's not much there."</p> + +<p>"There's ever so much bacon and ham. +Then there's the store-house open."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I guess there's nobody."</p> + +<p>"But there is, I'm sure. You must get +up!"</p> + +<p>They both got up and looked out of the +window. The snow-drifts, the paths through +them, the store-house, the smoke-house, and +the other white-washed out-buildings could be +seen as clearly as in broad day. The smoke-house +door was open!</p> + +<p>Old John Pontiac was one of the kindest +souls that ever inhabited a body, but this was a +little too much. Still he was sorry for the man, +no matter who, in that smoke-house,—some +Indian probably. He must be caught and +dealt with firmly; but he did not want the man +to be too much hurt.</p> + +<p>He put on his clothes and sallied forth. He +reached the smoke-house; there was no one in +it; there was a gap, though, where two long +flitches of bacon <i>had</i> been!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> +<p>John Pontiac's wife saw him go over to the +store-house, the door of which was open too. +He looked in, then stopped, and started back +as if in horror. Two flitches tied together with +a rope were on the floor, and inside was a man +filling a bag with flour from a barrel.</p> + +<p>"Well, well! this is a terrible thing," said old +John Pontiac to himself, shrinking around a +corner. "Peter McGrath! Oh, my! oh, my!"</p> + +<p>He became hot all over, as if he had done +something disgraceful himself. There was +nobody that he respected more than that pigheaded +Peter. What to do? He must punish +him of course; but how? Jail—for him with +eleven children! "Oh, my! oh, my!" Old +John wished he had not been awakened to see +this terrible downfall.</p> + +<p>"It will never do to let him go off with it," +he said to himself after a little reflection. "I'll +put him so that he'll know better another +time."</p> + +<p>Peter McGrath, as he entered the store-house<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +had felt that bacon heavier than the +heaviest end of the biggest stick of timber he had +ever helped to cant. He felt guilty, sneaking, +disgraced; he felt that the literal Devil had first +tempted him near the house, then all suddenly—with +his own hunger pangs and thoughts of +his starving family—swept him into the smoke-house +to steal. But he had consented to do it; +he had said he would take flour too,—and he +would, he was so obstinate! And withal, he +hated old John Pontiac worse than ever; for +now he accused him of being the cause of his +coming to this.</p> + +<p>Then all of a sudden he met the face of +Pontiac looking in at the door.</p> + +<p>Peter sprang back; he saw Stambrook jail—he +saw his eleven children and his wife—he +felt himself a detected felon, and that was +worst of all.</p> + +<p>"Well, Peter, you'd ought to have come +right in," were the words that came to his ears, +in John Pontiac's heartiest voice. "The missis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +would have been glad to see you. We did go +to bed a bit early, but there wouldn't have +been any harm in an old neighbor like you +waking us up. Not a word of that—hold on! +listen to me. It would be a pity if old friends +like you and me, Peter, couldn't help one +another to a trifling loan of provisions without +making a fuss over it." And old John, taking +up the scoop, went on filling the bag as if that +were a matter of course.</p> + +<p>Peter did not speak; he could not.</p> + +<p>"I was going round to your place to-morrow," +resumed John, cheerfully, "to see if +I couldn't hire you again. There's a job of +hewing for you in the Conlonge shanty,—a +man gone off sick. But I can't give more 'n +twenty-two, or say twenty-three, seeing you're +an old neighbor. What do you say?"</p> + +<p>Peter still said nothing; he was choking.</p> + +<p>"You had better have a bit of something +more than bacon and flour, Peter," he went on, +"and I'll give you a hand to carry the truck<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +home. I guess your wife won't mind seeing +me with you; then she'll know that you've +taken a job with me again, you see. Come +along and give me a hand to hitch the mare +up. I'll drive you down."</p> + +<p>"Ah—ah—Boss—Boss!" spoke Peter +then, with terrible gasps between. "Boss—O +my God, Mr. Pontiac—I can't never look you +in the face again!"</p> + +<p>"Peter McGrath—old neighbor,"—and +John Pontiac laid his hand on the shaking +shoulder,—"I guess I know all about it; I +guess I do. Sometimes a man is driven he don't +know how. Now we will say no more about it. +I'll load up, and you come right along with me. +And mind, I'll do the talking to your wife."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Mary Ann McGrath was in a terrible frame +of mind. What had become of Peter?</p> + +<p>She had gone out to look down the road, and +had been recalled by Number Eleven's crying. +Number Ten then chimed in; Nine, too, awoke,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +and determined to resume his privileges as an +infant. One after another they got up and +huddled around her—craving, craving—all +but the three eldest, who had been well +practised in the stoical philosophy by the +gradual decrease of their rations. But these +bounced up suddenly at the sound of a grand +jangle of bells.</p> + +<p>Could it be? Mr. Pontiac they had no doubt +about; but was that real bacon that he laid on +the kitchen table? Then a side of beef, a can +of tea; next a bag of flour, and again an actual +keg of sirup. Why, this was almost incredible! +And, last, he came in with an immense round +loaf of bread! The children gathered about +it; old John almost sickened with sorrow for +them, and hurrying out his jacknife, passed big +hunks around.</p> + +<p>"Well, now, Mrs. McGrath," he said during +these operations, "I don't hardly take it kindly +of you and Peter not to have come up to an old +neighbor's house before this for a bit of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +loan. It's well I met Peter to-night. Maybe +he'd never have told me your troubles—not +but what I blame myself for not suspecting how +it was a bit sooner. I just made him take a +little loan for the present. No, no; don't be talking +like that! Charity! tut! tut! it's just an +advance of wages. I've got a job for Peter; +he'll be on pay to-morrow again."</p> + +<p>At that Mary Ann burst out crying again. +"Oh, God bless you, Mr. Pontiac! it's a kind +man you are! May the saints be about your +bed!"</p> + +<p>With that she ran out to Peter, who still +stood by the sleigh; she put the baby in his +arms, and clinging to her husband's shoulder, +cried more and more.</p> + +<p>And what did obstinate Peter McGrath do? +Why, he cried, too, with gasps and groans that +seemed almost to kill him.</p> + +<p>"Go in," he said; "go in, Mary Ann—go +in—and kiss—the feet of him. Yes—and +the boards—he stands on. You don't know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +what he's done—for me. It's broke I am—the +bad heart of me—broke entirely—with +the goodness of him. May the heavens be his +bed!"</p> + +<p>"Now, Mrs. McGrath," cried old John, +"never you mind Peter; he's a bit light-headed +to-night. Come away in and get a bite +for him. I'd like a dish of tea myself before I +go home." Didn't that touch on her Irish +hospitality bring her in quickly!</p> + +<p>"Mind you this, Peter," said the old man, +going out then, "don't you be troubling your +wife with any little secrets about to-night; +that's between you and me. That's all I ask +of you."</p> + +<p>Thus it comes about that to this day, when +Peter McGrath's fifteen children have helped +him to become a very prosperous farmer, his +wife does not quite understand the depth of +worship with which he speaks of old John +Pontiac.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> +<p>Mrs. Pontiac never knew the story of the +night.</p> + +<p>"Never mind who it was, Jane," John said, +turning out the light, on returning to bed, "except +this,—it was a neighbor in sore trouble."</p> + +<p>"Stealing—and you helped him! Well, +John, such a man as you are!"</p> + +<p>"Jane, I don't ever rightly know what kind +of a man I might be, suppose hunger was cruel +on me, and on you, and all of us! Let us bless +God that he's saved us from the terriblest +temptations, and thank him most especially +when he inclines our hearts—inclines our +hearts—that's all."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="GREAT_GODFREYS_LAMENT" id="GREAT_GODFREYS_LAMENT"></a>GREAT GODFREY'S LAMENT.</h2> + + +<p>"Hark to Angus! Man, his heart will be +sore the night! In five years I have +not heard him playing 'Great Godfrey's Lament,'" +said old Alexander McTavish, as with +him I was sitting of a June evening, at sundown, +under a wide apple-tree of his orchard-lawn.</p> + +<p>When the sweet song-sparrows of the Ottawa +valley had ceased their plaintive strains, Angus +McNeil began on his violin. This night, instead +of "Tullochgorum" or "Roy's Wife" or +"The March of the McNeils," or any merry +strathspey, he crept into an unusual movement, +and from a distance came the notes of an exceeding +strange strain blent with the meditative +murmur of the Rataplan Rapids.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> +<p>I am not well enough acquainted with musical +terms to tell the method of that composition +in which the wail of a Highland coronach +seemed mingled with such mournful crooning as +I had heard often from Indian voyageurs north +of Lake Superior. Perhaps that fancy sprang +from my knowledge that Angus McNeil's father +had been a younger son of the chief of the +McNeil clan, and his mother a daughter of the +greatest man of the Cree nation.</p> + +<p>"Ay, but Angus is wae," sighed old McTavish. +"What will he be seeing the now? It +was the night before his wife died that he played +yon last. Come, we will go up the road. He +does be liking to see the people gather to +listen."</p> + +<p>We walked, maybe three hundred yards, and +stood leaning against the ruined picket-fence +that surrounds the great stone house built by +Hector McNeil, the father of Angus, when he +retired from his position as one of the "Big +Bourgeois" of the famous Northwest Fur Trading +Company.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> +<p>The huge square structure of four stories and +a basement is divided, above the ground floor, +into eight suites, some of four, and some of five +rooms. In these suites the fur-trader, whose +ideas were all patriarchal, had designed that he +and his Indian wife, with his seven sons and +their future families, should live to the end of +his days and theirs. That was a dream at the +time when his boys were all under nine years +old, and Godfrey little more than a baby in +arms.</p> + +<p>The ground-floor is divided by a hall twenty-five +feet wide into two long chambers, one +intended to serve as a dining-hall for the multitude +of descendants that Hector expected to +see round his old age, the other as a withdrawing-room +for himself and his wife, or for festive +occasions. In this mansion Angus McNeil now +dwelt alone.</p> + +<p>He sat out that evening on a balcony at the +rear of the hall, whence he could overlook the +McTavish place and the hamlet that extends a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +quarter of a mile further down the Ottawa's +north shore. His right side was toward the +large group of French-Canadian people who +had gathered to hear him play. Though he +was sitting, I could make out that his was a +gigantic figure.</p> + +<p>"Ay—it will be just exactly 'Great Godfrey's +Lament,'" McTavish whispered. "Weel +do I mind him playing yon many's the night +after Godfrey was laid in the mools. Then he +played it no more till before his ain wife died. +What is he seeing now? Man, it's weel kenned +he has the second sight at times. Maybe he +sees the pit digging for himself. He's the last +of them."</p> + +<p>"Who was Great Godfrey?" I asked, rather +loudly.</p> + +<p>Angus McNeil instantly cut short the "Lament," +rose from his chair, and faced us.</p> + +<p>"Aleck McTavish, who have you with you?" +he called imperiously.</p> + +<p>"My young cousin from the city, Mr. McNeil," +said McTavish, with deference.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> +<p>"Bring him in. I wish to spoke with you, +Aleck McTavish. The young man that is not +acquaint with the name of Great Godfrey McNeil +can come with you. I will be at the great +door."</p> + +<p>"It's strange-like," said McTavish, as we +went to the upper gate. "He has not asked +me inside for near five years. I'm feared his +wits is disordered, by his way of speaking. +Mind what you say. Great Godfrey was most +like a god to Angus."</p> + +<p>When Angus McNeil met us at the front +door I saw he was verily a giant. Indeed, he +was a wee bit more than six and a half feet tall +when he stood up straight. Now he was +stooped a little, not with age, but with consumption,—the +disease most fatal to men of +mixed white and Indian blood. His face was +dark brown, his features of the Indian cast, but +his black hair had not the Indian lankness. It +curled tightly round his grand head.</p> + +<p>Without a word he beckoned us on into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +vast withdrawing room. Without a word he +seated himself beside a large oaken centre-table, +and motioned us to sit opposite.</p> + +<p>Before he broke silence, I saw that the windows +of that great chamber were hung with +faded red damask; that the heads of many a +bull moose, buck, bear, and wolf grinned among +guns and swords and claymores from its walls; +that charred logs, fully fifteen feet long, remained +in the fireplace from the last winter's +burning; that there were three dim portraits +in oil over the mantel; that the room contained +much frayed furniture, once sumptuous of red +velvet; and that many skins of wild beasts lay +strewn over a hard-wood floor whose edges still +retained their polish and faintly gleamed in +rays from the red west.</p> + +<p>That light was enough to show that two of +the oil paintings must be those of Hector McNeil +and his Indian wife. Between these hung +one of a singularly handsome youth with yellow +hair.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> +<p>"Here my father lay dead," cried Angus +McNeil, suddenly striking the table. He stared +at us silently for many seconds, then again +struck the table with the side of his clenched +fist. "He lay here dead on this table—yes! +It was Godfrey that straked him out all alone +on this table. You mind Great Godfrey, Aleck +McTavish."</p> + +<p>"Well I do, Mr. McNeil; and your mother +yonder,—a grand lady she was." McTavish +spoke with curious humility, seeming wishful, I +thought, to comfort McNeil's sorrow by exciting +his pride.</p> + +<p>"Ay—they'll tell hereafter that she was +just exactly a squaw," cried the big man, +angrily. "But grand she was, and a great lady, +and a proud. Oh, man, man! but they were +proud, my father and my Indian mother. And +Godfrey was the pride of the hearts of them +both. No wonder; but it was sore on the +rest of us after they took him apart from our +ways."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> +<p>Aleck McTavish spoke not a word, and big +Angus, after a long pause, went on as if almost +unconscious of our presence:—</p> + +<p>"White was Godfrey, and rosy of the cheek +like my father; and the blue eyes of him would +match the sky when you'll be seeing it up +through a blazing maple on a clear day of +October. Tall, and straight and grand was +Godfrey, my brother. What was the thing Godfrey +could not do? The songs of him hushed +the singing-birds on the tree, and the fiddle he +would play to take the soul out of your body. +There was no white one among us till he was +born.</p> + +<p>"The rest of us all were just Indians—ay, +Indians, Aleck McTavish. Brown we were, +and the desire of us was all for the woods and +the river. Godfrey had white sense like my +father, and often we saw the same look in his +eyes. My God, but we feared our father!"</p> + +<p>Angus paused to cough. After the fit he sat +silent for some minutes. The voice of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +great rapid seemed to fill the room. When he +spoke again, he stared past our seat with fixed, +dilated eyes, as if tranced by a vision.</p> + +<p>"Godfrey, Godfrey—you hear! Godfrey, +the six of us would go over the falls and not +think twice of it, if it would please you, when +you were little. Oich, the joy we had in the +white skin of you, and the fine ways, till my +father and mother saw we were just making an +Indian of you, like ourselves! So they took you +away; ay, and many's the day the six of us went +to the woods and the river, missing you sore. +It's then you began to look on us with that +look that we could not see was different from +the look we feared in the blue eyes of our +father. Oh, but we feared him, Godfrey! And +the time went by, and we feared and we hated +you that seemed lifted up above your Indian +brothers!"</p> + +<p>"Oich, the masters they got to teach him!" +said Angus, addressing himself again to my +cousin. "In the Latin and the Greek they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +trained him. History books he read, and +stories in song. Ay, and the manners of +Godfrey! Well might the whole pride of my +father and mother be on their one white son. +A grand young gentleman was Godfrey,—Great +Godfrey we called him, when he was eighteen.</p> + +<p>"The fine, rich people that would come up +in bateaux from Montreal to visit my father +had the smile and the kind word for Godfrey; +but they looked upon us with the eyes of the +white man for the Indian. And that look +we were more and more sure was growing +harder in Godfrey's eyes. So we looked back +at him with the eyes of the wolf that stares at +the bull moose, and is fierce to pull him down, +but dares not try, for the moose is too great +and lordly.</p> + +<p>"Mind you, Aleck McTavish, for all we +hated Godfrey when we thought he would be +looking at us like strange Indians—for all that, +yet we were proud of him that he was our own +brother. Well, we minded how he was all like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +one with us when he was little; and in the +calm looks of him, and the white skin, and the +yellow hair, and the grandeur of him, we had +pride, do you understand? Ay, and in the +strength of him we were glad. Would we not +sit still and pleased when it was the talk how +he could run quicker than the best, and jump +higher than his head—ay, would we! Man, +there was none could compare in strength with +Great Godfrey, the youngest of us all!</p> + +<p>"He and my father and mother more and +more lived by themselves in this room. Yonder +room across the hall was left to us six Indians. +No manners, no learning had we; we were no +fit company for Godfrey. My mother was like +she was wilder with love of Godfrey the more +he grew and the grander, and never a word for +days and weeks together did she give to us. It +was Godfrey this, and Godfrey that, and all her +thought was Godfrey!</p> + +<p>"Most of all we hated him when she was +lying dead here on this table. We six in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +other room could hear Godfrey and my father +groan and sigh. We would step softly to the +door and listen to them kissing her that was +dead,—them white, and she Indian like ourselves,—and +us not daring to go in for the fear +of the eyes of our father. So the soreness was +in our hearts so cruel hard that we would not +go in till the last, for all their asking. My God, +my God, Aleck McTavish, if you saw her! +she seemed smiling like at Godfrey, and she +looked like him then, for all she was brown +as November oak-leaves, and he white that day +as the froth on the rapid.</p> + +<p>"That put us farther from Godfrey than +before. And farther yet we were from him +after, when he and my father would be walking +up and down, up and down, arm in arm, up +and down the lawn in the evenings. They +would be talking about books, and the great +McNeils in Scotland. The six of us knew we +were McNeils, for all we were Indians, and we +would listen to the talk of the great pride and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +the great deeds of the McNeils that was our +own kin. We would be drinking the whiskey +if we had it, and saying: 'Godfrey to be the +only McNeil! Godfrey to take all the pride of +the name of us!' Oh, man, man! but we +hated Godfrey sore."</p> + +<p>Big Angus paused long, and I seemed to see +clearly the two fair-haired, tall men walking arm +in arm on the lawn in the twilight, as if unconscious +or careless of being watched and overheard +by six sore-hearted kinsmen.</p> + +<p>"You'll mind when my father was thrown +from his horse and carried into this room, +Aleck McTavish? Ay, well you do. But you +nor no other living man but me knows what +came about the night that he died.</p> + +<p>"Godfrey was alone with him. The six of +us were in yon room. Drink we had, but +cautious we were with it, for there was a deed +to be done that would need all our senses. +We sat in a row on the floor—we were +Indians—it was our wigwam—we sat on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +floor to be against the ways of them two. +Godfrey was in here across the hall from us; +alone he was with our white father. He would +be chief over us by the will, no doubt,—and if +Godfrey lived through that night it would be +strange.</p> + +<p>"We were cautious with the whiskey, I told +you before. Not a sound could we hear of +Godfrey or of my father. Only the rapid, +calling and calling,—I mind it well that night. +Ay, and well I mind the striking of the great +clock,—tick, tick, tick, tick, tick,—I listened +and I dreamed on it till I doubted but it was +the beating of my father's heart.</p> + +<p>"Ten o'clock was gone by, and eleven was +near. How many of us sat sleeping I know +not; but I woke up with a start, and there was +Great Godfrey, with a candle in his hand, looking +down strange at us, and us looking up +strange at him.</p> + +<p>"'He is dead,' Godfrey said.</p> + +<p>"We said nothing.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> +<p>"'Father died two hours ago,' Godfrey said.</p> + +<p>"We said nothing.</p> + +<p>"'Our father is white,—he is very white,' +Godfrey said, and he trembled. 'Our mother +was brown when she was dead.'</p> + +<p>"Godfrey's voice was wild.</p> + +<p>"'Come, brothers, and see how white is our +father,' Godfrey said.</p> + +<p>"No one of us moved.</p> + +<p>"'Won't you come? In God's name, come,' +said Godfrey. 'Oich—but it is very strange! +I have looked in his face so long that now I do +not know him for my father. He is like no +kin to me, lying there. I am alone, alone.'</p> + +<p>"Godfrey wailed in a manner. It made me +ashamed to hear his voice like that—him that +looked like my father that was always silent as +a sword—him that was the true McNeil.</p> + +<p>"'You look at me, and your eyes are the +eyes of my mother,' says Godfrey, staring +wilder. 'What are you doing here, all so +still? Drinking the whiskey? I am the same<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +as you. I am your brother. I will sit with you, +and if you drink the whiskey, I will drink the +whiskey, too.'</p> + +<p>"Aleck McTavish! with that he sat down on +the floor in the dirt and litter beside Donald, +that was oldest of us all.</p> + +<p>"'Give me the bottle,' he said. 'I am as +much Indian as you, brothers. What you do I +will do, as I did when I was little, long ago.'</p> + +<p>"To see him sit down in his best,—all his +learning and his grand manners as if forgotten,—man, +it was like as if our father himself was +turned Indian, and was low in the dirt!</p> + +<p>"What was in the heart of Donald I don't +know, but he lifted the bottle and smashed it +down on the floor.</p> + +<p>"'God in heaven! what's to become of +the McNeils! You that was the credit of the +family, Godfrey!' says Donald with a groan.</p> + +<p>"At that Great Godfrey jumped to his feet +like he was come awake.</p> + +<p>"'You're fitter to be the head of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +McNeils than I am, Donald,' says he; and with +that the tears broke out of his eyes, and he cast +himself into Donald's arms. Well, with that +we all began to cry as if our hearts would break. +I threw myself down on the floor at Godfrey's +feet, and put my arms round his knees the same +as I'd lift him up when he was little. There I +cried, and we all cried around him, and after a +bit I said:—</p> + +<p>"'Brothers, this was what was in the mind +of Godfrey. He was all alone in yonder. We +are his brothers, and his heart warmed to us, +and he said to himself, it was better to be like +us than to be alone, and he thought if he came +and sat down and drank the whiskey with us, +he would be our brother again, and not be any +more alone.'</p> + +<p>"'Ay, Angus, Angus, but how did you +know that?' says Godfrey, crying; and he put +his arms round my neck, and lifted me up till +we were breast to breast. With that we all put +our arms some way round one another and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +Godfrey, and there we stood sighing and swaying +and sobbing a long time, and no man saying +a word.</p> + +<p>"'Oh, man, Godfrey dear, but our father is +gone, and who can talk with you now about the +Latin, and the history books, and the great +McNeils—and our mother that's gone?' says +Donald; and the thought of it was such pity +that our hearts seemed like to break.</p> + +<p>"But Godfrey said: 'We will talk together +like brothers. If it shames you for me to be +like you, then I will teach you all they taught +me, and we will all be like our white father.'</p> + +<p>"So we all agreed to have it so, if he would +tell us what to do. After that we came in here +with Godfrey, and we stood looking at my +father's white face. Godfrey all alone had +straked him out on this table, with the silver-pieces +on the eyes that we had feared. But +the silver we did not fear. Maybe you will not +understand it, Aleck McTavish, but our father +never seemed such close kin to us as when we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +would look at him dead, and at Godfrey, that +was the picture of him, living and kind.</p> + +<p>"After that you know what happened yourself."</p> + +<p>"Well I do, Mr. McNeil. It was Great +Godfrey that was the father to you all," said +my cousin.</p> + +<p>"Just that, Aleck McTavish. All that he +had was ours to use as we would,—his land, +money, horses, this room, his learning. Some +of us could learn one thing and some of us +could learn another, and some could learn +nothing, not even how to behave. What I +could learn was the playing of the fiddle. +Many's the hour Godfrey would play with me +while the rest were all happy around.</p> + +<p>"In great content we lived like brothers, +and proud to see Godfrey as white and fine, and +grand as the best gentleman that ever came up +to visit him out of Montreal. Ay, in great +content we lived all together till the consumption +came on Donald, and he was gone. Then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +it came and came back, and came back again, +till Hector was gone, and Ranald was gone, +and in ten years' time only Godfrey and I were +left. Then both of us married, as you know. +But our children died as fast as they were born, +almost,—for the curse seemed on us. Then +his wife died, and Godfrey sighed and sighed +ever after that.</p> + +<p>"One night I was sleeping with the door of +my room open, so I could hear if Godfrey +needed my help. The cough was on him +then. Out of a dream of him looking at my +father's white face I woke and went to his bed. +He was not there at all.</p> + +<p>"My heart went cold with fear, for I heard +the rapid very clear, like the nights they all +died. Then I heard the music begin down +stairs, here in this chamber where they were +all laid out dead,—right here on this table +where I will soon lie like the rest. I leave it +to you to see it done, Aleck McTavish, for you +are a Highlandman by blood. It was that I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +wanted to say to you when I called you in. I +have seen myself in my coffin three nights. +Nay, say nothing; you will see.</p> + +<p>"Hearing the music that night, down I came +softly. Here sat Godfrey, and the kindest +look was on his face that ever I saw. He had +his fiddle in his hand, and he played about all +our lives.</p> + +<p>"He played about how we all came down +from the North in the big canoe with my father +and mother, when we were little children and +him a baby. He played of the rapids we +passed over, and of the rustling of the poplar-trees +and the purr of the pines. He played till +the river you hear now was in the fiddle, with +the sound of our paddles, and the fish jumping +for flies. He played about the long winters +when we were young, so that the snow of those +winters seemed falling again. The ringing of +our skates on the ice I could hear in the fiddle. +He played through all our lives when we were +young and going in the woods yonder together—and +then it was the sore lament began!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> +<p>"It was like as if he played how they kept +him away from his brothers, and him at his +books thinking of them in the woods, and him +hearing the partridges' drumming, and the +squirrels' chatter, and all the little birds singing +and singing. Oich, man, but there's no words +for the sadness of it!"</p> + +<p>Old Angus ceased to speak as he took his +violin from the table and struck into the middle +of "Great Godfrey's Lament." As he played, +his wide eyes looked past us, and the tears +streamed down his brown cheeks. When the +woful strain ended, he said, staring past us: +"Ay, Godfrey, you were always our brother."</p> + +<p>Then he put his face down in his big brown +hands, and we left him without another word.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_RED-HEADED_WINDEGO" id="THE_RED-HEADED_WINDEGO"></a>THE RED-HEADED WINDEGO.</h2> + + +<p>Big Baptiste Seguin, on snow-shoes nearly six +feet long, strode mightily out of the forest, +and gazed across the treeless valley ahead.</p> + +<p>"Hooraw! No choppin' for two mile!" he +shouted.</p> + +<p>"Hooraw! Bully! Hi-yi!" yelled the axemen, +Pierre, "Jawnny," and "Frawce," two +hundred yards behind. Their cries were taken +up by the two chain-bearers still farther back.</p> + +<p>"Is it a lake, Baptiste?" cried Tom Dunscombe, +the young surveyor, as he hurried forward +through balsams that edged the woods +and concealed the open space from those among +the trees.</p> + +<p>"No, seh; only a beaver meddy."</p> + +<p>"Clean?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> +<p>"Clean! Yesseh! Clean 's your face. Hain't +no tree for two mile if de line is go right."</p> + +<p>"Good! We shall make seven miles to-day," +said Tom, as he came forward with +immense strides, carrying a compass and +Jacob's-staff. Behind him the axemen slashed +along, striking white slivers from the pink and +scaly columns of red pines that shot up a hundred +and twenty feet without a branch. If any +underbrush grew there, it was beneath the +eight-feet-deep February snow, so that one +could see far away down a multitude of vaulted, +converging aisles.</p> + +<p>Our young surveyor took no thought of the +beauty and majesty of the forest he was leaving. +His thoughts and those of his men were set +solely on getting ahead; for all hands had been +promised double pay for their whole winter, in +case they should succeed in running a line +round the disputed Moose Lake timber berth +before the tenth of April.</p> + +<p>Their success would secure the claim of their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +employer, Old Dan McEachran, whereas their +failure would submit him perhaps to the loss of +the limit, and certainly to a costly lawsuit with +"Old Rory" Carmichael, another potentate of +the Upper Ottawa.</p> + +<p>At least six weeks more of fair snow-shoeing +would be needed to "blaze" out the limit, +even if the unknown country before them +should turn out to be less broken by cedar +swamps and high precipices than they feared. +A few days' thaw with rain would make slush of +the eight feet of snow, and compel the party +either to keep in camp, or risk <i>mal de raquette</i>,—strain +of legs by heavy snow-shoeing. So +they were in great haste to make the best of +fine weather.</p> + +<p>Tom thrust his Jacob's-staff into the snow, +set the compass sights to the right bearing, +looked through them, and stood by to let Big +Baptiste get a course along the line ahead. +Baptiste's duty was to walk straight for some +selected object far away on the line. In woodland<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +the axemen "blazed" trees on both sides +of his snow-shoe track.</p> + +<p>Baptiste was as expert at his job as any +Indian, and indeed he looked as if he had a +streak of Iroquois in his veins. So did "Frawce," +"Jawnny," and all their comrades of the party.</p> + +<p>"The three pines will do," said Tom, as +Baptiste crouched.</p> + +<p>"Good luck to-day for sure!" cried Baptiste, +rising with his eyes fixed on three pines in the +foreground of the distant timbered ridge. He +saw that the line did indeed run clear of trees +for two miles along one side of the long, +narrow beaver meadow or swale.</p> + +<p>Baptiste drew a deep breath, and grinned +agreeably at Tom Dunscombe.</p> + +<p>"De boys will look like dey's all got de +double pay in dey's pocket when dey's see <i>dis</i> +open," said Baptiste, and started for the three +pines as straight as a bee.</p> + +<p>Tom waited to get from the chainmen the +distance to the edge of the wood. They came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +on the heels of the axemen, and all capered on +their snow-shoes to see so long a space free +from cutting.</p> + +<p>It was now two o'clock; they had marched +with forty pound or "light" packs since daylight, +lunching on cold pork and hard-tack as +they worked; they had slept cold for weeks on +brush under an open tent pitched over a hole +in the snow; they must live this life of hardship +and huge work for six weeks longer, but +they hoped to get twice their usual eighty-cents-a-day +pay, and so their hearts were light +and jolly.</p> + +<p>But Big Baptiste, now two hundred yards in +advance, swinging along in full view of the +party, stopped with a scared cry. They saw +him look to the left and to the right, and over +his shoulder behind, like a man who expects +mortal attack from a near but unknown quarter.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" shouted Tom.</p> + +<p>Baptiste went forward a few steps, hesitated, +stopped, turned, and fairly ran back toward<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +the party. As he came he continually turned +his head from side to side as if expecting to +see some dreadful thing following.</p> + +<p>The men behind Tom stopped. Their faces +were blanched. They looked, too, from side +to side.</p> + +<p>"Halt, Mr. Tom, halt! Oh, <i>monjee</i>, M'sieu, +stop!" said Jawnny.</p> + +<p>Tom looked round at his men, amazed at +their faces of mysterious terror.</p> + +<p>"What on earth has happened?" cried he.</p> + +<p>Instead of answering, the men simply pointed +to Big Baptiste, who was soon within twenty +yards.</p> + +<p>"What is the trouble, Baptiste?" asked Tom.</p> + +<p>Baptiste's face was the hue of death. As he +spoke he shuddered:—</p> + +<p>"<i>Monjee</i>, Mr. Tom, we'll got for stop de +job!"</p> + +<p>"Stop the job! Are you crazy?"</p> + +<p>"If you'll not b'lieve what I told, den you +go'n' see for you'se'f."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"De track, seh."</p> + +<p>"What track? Wolves?"</p> + +<p>"If it was only wolfs!"</p> + +<p>"Confound you! can't you say what it is?"</p> + +<p>"Eet's de—It ain't safe for told its name +out loud, for dass de way it come—if it's call +by its name!"</p> + +<p>"Windego, eh?" said Tom, laughing.</p> + +<p>"I'll know its track jus' as quick 's I see it."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean you have seen a Windego +track?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Monjee</i>, seh, <i>don't</i> say its name! Let us go +back," said Jawnny. "Baptiste was at Madores' +shanty with us when it took Hermidas Dubois."</p> + +<p>"Yesseh. That's de way I'll come for +know de track soon 's I see it," said Baptiste. +"Before den I mos' don' b'lieve dere was any +of it. But ain't it take Hermidas Dubois only +last New Year's?"</p> + +<p>"That was all nonsense about Dubois. I'll +bet it was a joke to scare you all."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> +<p>"Who 's kill a man for a joke?" said Baptiste.</p> + +<p>"Did you see Hermidas Dubois killed? Did +you see him dead? No! I heard all about it. +All you know is that he went away on New +Year's morning, when the rest of the men were +too scared to leave the shanty, because some +one said there was a Windego track outside."</p> + +<p>"Hermidas never come back!"</p> + +<p>"I'll bet he went away home. You'll find +him at Saint Agathe in the spring. You can't +be such fools as to believe in Windegos."</p> + +<p>"Don't you say dat name some more!" +yelled Big Baptiste, now fierce with fright. +"Hain't I just seen de track? I'm go'n' back, +me, if I don't get a copper of pay for de whole +winter!"</p> + +<p>"Wait a little now, Baptiste," said Tom, +alarmed lest his party should desert him and +the job. "I'll soon find out what's at the +bottom of the track."</p> + +<p>"Dere's blood at de bottom—I seen it!" +said Baptiste.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> +<p>"Well, you wait till <i>I</i> go and see it."</p> + +<p>"No! I go back, me," said Baptiste, and +started up the slope with the others at his heels.</p> + +<p>"Halt! Stop there! Halt, you fools! Don't +you understand that if there was any such +monster it would as easily catch you in one +place as another?"</p> + +<p>The men went on. Tom took another tone.</p> + +<p>"Boys, look here! I say, are you going to +desert me like cowards?"</p> + +<p>"Hain't goin' for desert you, Mr. Tom, no +seh!" said Baptiste, halting. "Honly I'll +hain' go for cross de track." They all faced +round.</p> + +<p>Tom was acquainted with a considerable +number of Windego superstitions.</p> + +<p>"There's no danger unless it's a fresh +track," he said. "Perhaps it's an old one."</p> + +<p>"Fresh made dis mornin'," said Baptiste.</p> + +<p>"Well, wait till I go and see it. You're all +right, you know, if you don't cross it. Isn't +that the idea?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> +<p>"No, seh. Mr. Humphreys told Madore +'bout dat. Eef somebody cross de track and +don't never come back, <i>den</i> de magic ain't in +de track no more. But it's watchin', watchin' +all round to catch somebody what cross its +track; and if nobody don't cross its track and +get catched, den de—de <i>Ting</i> mebby get +crazy mad, and nobody don' know what it's +goin' for do. Kill every person, mebby."</p> + +<p>Tom mused over this information. These +men had all been in Madore's shanty; Madore +was under Red Dick Humphreys; Red Dick +was Rory Carmichael's head foreman; he had +sworn to stop the survey by hook or by crook, +and this vow had been made after Tom had +hired his gang from among those scared away +from Madore's shanty. Tom thought he began +to understand the situation.</p> + +<p>"Just wait a bit, boys," he said, and started.</p> + +<p>"You ain't surely go'n' to cross de track?" +cried Baptiste.</p> + +<p>"Not now, anyway," said Tom. "But wait +till I see it."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> +<p>When he reached the mysterious track it +surprised him so greatly that he easily forgave +Baptiste's fears.</p> + +<p>If a giant having ill-shaped feet as long as +Tom's snow-shoes had passed by in moccasins, +the main features of the indentations might +have been produced. But the marks were no +deeper in the snow than if the huge moccasins +had been worn by an ordinary man. They +were about five and a half feet apart from +centres, a stride that no human legs could take +at a walking pace.</p> + +<p>Moreover, there were on the snow none of +the dragging marks of striding; the gigantic +feet had apparently been lifted straight up clear +of the snow, and put straight down.</p> + +<p>Strangest of all, at the front of each print +were five narrow holes which suggested that the +mysterious creature had travelled with bare, +claw-like toes. An irregular drip or squirt of +blood went along the middle of the indentations! +Nevertheless, the whole thing seemed of +human devising.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> +<p>This track, Tom reflected, was consistent +with the Indian superstition that Windegos are +monsters who take on or relinquish the human +form, and vary their size at pleasure. He perceived +that he must bring the maker of those +tracks promptly to book, or suffer his men to +desert the survey, and cost him his whole +winter's work, besides making him a laughingstock +in the settlements.</p> + +<p>The young fellow made his decision instantly. +After feeling for his match-box and sheath-knife, +he took his hatchet from his sash, and +called to the men.</p> + +<p>"Go into camp and wait for me!"</p> + +<p>Then he set off alongside of the mysterious +track at his best pace. It came out of a tangle +of alders to the west, and went into such +another tangle about a quarter of a mile to the +east. Tom went east. The men watched him +with horror.</p> + +<p>"He's got crazy, looking at de track," said +Big Baptiste, "for that's the way,—one is +enchanted,—he must follow."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> +<p>"He was a good boss," said Jawnny, sadly.</p> + +<p>As the young fellow disappeared in the +alders the men looked at one another with a +certain shame. Not a sound except the sough +of pines from the neighboring forest was heard. +Though the sun was sinking in clear blue, the +aspect of the wilderness, gray and white and +severe, touched the impressionable men with +deeper melancholy. They felt lonely, masterless, +mean.</p> + +<p>"He was a good boss," said Jawnny again.</p> + +<p>"<i>Tort Dieu!</i>" cried Baptiste, leaping to his +feet. "It's a shame to desert the young boss. +I don't care; the Windego can only kill me. +I'm going to help Mr. Tom."</p> + +<p>"Me also," said Jawnny.</p> + +<p>Then all wished to go. But after some +parley it was agreed that the others should wait +for the portageurs, who were likely to be two +miles behind, and make camp for the night.</p> + +<p>Soon Baptiste and Jawnny, each with his axe, +started diagonally across the swale, and entered +the alders on Tom's track.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> +<p>It took them twenty yards through the alders, +to the edge of a warm spring or marsh about +fifty yards wide. This open, shallow water was +completely encircled by alders that came down +to its very edge. Tom's snow-shoe track joined +the track of the mysterious monster for the first +time on the edge—and there both vanished!</p> + +<p>Baptiste and Jawnny looked at the place with +the wildest terror, and without even thinking to +search the deeply indented opposite edges of +the little pool for a reappearance of the tracks, +fled back to the party. It was just as Red +Dick Humphreys had said; just as they had +always heard. Tom, like Hermidas Dubois, +appeared to have vanished from existence the +moment he stepped on the Windego track!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The dimness of early evening was in the red-pine +forest through which Tom's party had +passed early in the afternoon, and the belated +portageurs were tramping along the line. A +man with a red head had been long crouching in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +some cedar bushes to the east of the "blazed" +cutting. When he had watched the portageurs +pass out of sight, he stepped over upon their +track, and followed it a short distance.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later a young fellow, over six +feet high, who strongly resembled Tom Dunscombe, +followed the red-headed man.</p> + +<p>The stranger, suddenly catching sight of a +flame far away ahead on the edge of the beaver +meadow, stopped and fairly hugged himself.</p> + +<p>"Camped, by jiminy! I knowed I'd fetch +'em," was the only remark he made.</p> + +<p>"I wish Big Baptiste could see that Windego +laugh," thought Tom Dunscombe, concealed +behind a tree.</p> + +<p>After reflecting a few moments, the red-headed +man, a wiry little fellow, went forward +till he came to where an old pine had recently +fallen across the track. There he kicked off +his snow-shoes, picked them up, ran along the +trunk, jumped into the snow from among the +branches, put on his snow-shoes, and started<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +northwestward. His new track could not be +seen from the survey line.</p> + +<p>But Tom had beheld and understood the purpose +of the manœuvre. He made straight for +the head of the fallen tree, got on the stranger's +tracks and cautiously followed them, keeping +far enough behind to be out of hearing or +sight.</p> + +<p>The red-headed stranger went toward the +wood out of which the mysterious track of the +morning had come. When he had reached +the little brush-camp in which he had slept +the previous night, he made a small fire, put a +small tin pot on it, boiled some tea, broiled a +venison steak, ate his supper, had several good +laughs, took a long smoke, rolled himself round +and round in his blanket, and went to sleep.</p> + +<p>Hours passed before Tom ventured to crawl +forward and peer into the brush camp. The +red-headed man was lying on his face, as is the +custom of many woodsmen. His capuchin cap +covered his red head.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> +<p>Tom Dunscombe took off his own long sash. +When the red-headed man woke up he found +that some one was on his back, holding his +head firmly down.</p> + +<p>Unable to extricate his arms or legs from his +blankets, the red-headed man began to utter +fearful threats. Tom said not one word, but +diligently wound his sash round his prisoner's +head, shoulders, and arms.</p> + +<p>He then rose, took the red-headed man's +own "tump-line," a leather strap about twelve +feet long, which tapered from the middle to +both ends, tied this firmly round the angry live +mummy, and left him lying on his face.</p> + +<p>Then, collecting his prisoner's axe, snow-shoes, +provisions, and tin pail, Tom started with +them back along the Windego track for camp.</p> + +<p>Big Baptiste and his comrades had supped +too full of fears to go to sleep. They had +built an enormous fire, because Windegos are +reported, in Indian circles, to share with wild +beasts the dread of flames and brands. Tom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +stole quietly to within fifty yards of the camp, +and suddenly shouted in unearthly fashion. +The men sprang up, quaking.</p> + +<p>"It's the Windego!" screamed Jawnny.</p> + +<p>"You silly fools!" said Tom, coming forward. +"Don't you know my voice? Am I a Windego?"</p> + +<p>"It's the Windego, for sure; it's took the +shape of Mr. Tom, after eatin' him," cried Big +Baptiste.</p> + +<p>Tom laughed so uproariously at this, that the +other men scouted the idea, though it was quite +in keeping with their information concerning +Windegos' habits.</p> + +<p>Then Tom came in and gave a full and +particular account of the Windego's pursuit, +capture, and present predicament.</p> + +<p>"But how'd he make de track?" they asked.</p> + +<p>"He had two big old snow-shoes, stuffed +with spruce tips underneath, and covered with +dressed deerskin. He had cut off the back +ends of them. You shall see them to-morrow. +I found them down yonder where he had left<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +them after crossing the warm spring. He had +five bits of sharp round wood going down in +front of them. He must have stood on them one +after the other, and lifted the back one every +time with the pole he carried. I've got that, +too. The blood was from a deer he had run down +and killed in the snow. He carried the blood +in his tin pail, and sprinkled it behind him. +He must have run out our line long ago with a +compass, so he knew where it would go. But +come, let us go and see if it's Red Dick +Humphreys."</p> + +<p>Red Dick proved to be the prisoner. He +had become quite philosophic while waiting for +his captor to come back. When unbound he +grinned pleasantly, and remarked:—</p> + +<p>"You're Mr. Dunscombe, eh? Well, you're +a smart young feller, Mr. Dunscombe. There +ain't another man on the Ottaway that could 'a' +done that trick on me. Old Dan McEachran +will make your fortun' for this, and I don't +begrudge it. You're a man—that's so. If<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +ever I hear any feller saying to the contrayry +he's got to lick Red Dick Humphreys."</p> + +<p>And he told them the particulars of his +practical joke in making a Windego track round +Madore's shanty.</p> + +<p>"Hermidas Dubois?—oh, he's all right," +said Red Dick. "He's at home at St. Agathe. +Man, he helped me to fix up that Windego +track at Madore's; but, by criminy! the look +of it scared him so he wouldn't cross it himself. +It was a holy terror!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_SHINING_CROSS_OF_RIGAUD" id="THE_SHINING_CROSS_OF_RIGAUD"></a>THE SHINING CROSS OF RIGAUD.</h2> + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>When Mini was a fortnight old his +mother wrapped her head and shoulders +in her ragged shawl, snatched him from +the family litter of straw, and, with a volley of +cautionary objurgations to his ten brothers and +sisters, strode angrily forth into the raw +November weather. She went down the hill +to the edge of the broad, dark Ottawa, where +thin slices of ice were swashing together. There +sat a hopeless-looking little man at the clumsy +oars of a flat-bottomed boat.</p> + +<p>"The little one's feet are out," said the man.</p> + +<p>"So much the better! For what was +another sent us?" cried Mini's mother.</p> + +<p>"But the little one must be baptized," said +the father, with mild expostulation.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> +<p>"Give him to me, then," and the man took +off his own ragged coat. Beneath it he had +nothing except an equally ragged guernsey, +and the wind was keen. The woman surrendered +the child carelessly, and drawing her +shawl closer, sat frowning moodily in the stern. +Mini's father wrapped him in the wretched +garment, carefully laid the infant on the pea-straw +at his feet, and rowed wearily away.</p> + +<p>They took him to the gray church on the +farther shore, whose tall cross glittered coldly +in the wintry sun. There Madame Lajeunesse, +the skilful washerwoman, angry to be taken so +long from her tubs, and Bonhomme Hamel, +who never did anything but fish for <i>barbotes</i>, +met them. These highly respectable connections +of Mini's mother had a disdain for her +inferior social status, and easily made it understood +that nothing but a Christian duty would +have brought them out. Where else, indeed, +could the friendless infant have found sponsors? +It was disgraceful, they remarked, that the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +custom of baptism at three days old should +have been violated. While they answered for +Mini's spiritual development he was quiet, +neither crying nor smiling till the old priest +crossed his brow. Then he smiled, and that, +Bonhomme Hamel remarked, was a blessed +sign.</p> + +<p>"Now he's sure of heaven when he does +die!" cried Mini's mother, getting home +again, and tossed him down on the straw, for +a conclusion to her sentence.</p> + +<p>But the child lived, as if by miracle. Hunger, +cold, dirt, abuse, still left him a feeble vitality. +At six years old his big dark eyes wore so sad +a look that mothers of merry children often +stopped to sigh over him, frightening the child, +for he did not understand sympathy. So unresponsive +and dumb was he that they called +him half-witted. Three babies younger than +he had died by then, and the fourth was little +Angélique. They said she would be very like +Mini, and there was reason why in her wretched<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +infancy. Mini's was the only love she ever +knew. When she saw the sunny sky his weak +arms carried her, and many a night he drew +over her the largest part of his deplorable +coverings. She, too, was strangely silent. For +days long they lay together on the straw, quietly +suffering what they had known from the beginning. +It was something near starvation.</p> + +<p>When Mini was eight years old his mother +sent him one day to beg food from Madame +Leclaire, whose servant she had been long ago.</p> + +<p>"It's Lucile's Mini," said Madame, taking +him to the door of the cosey sitting-room, where +Monsieur sat at <i>solitaire</i>.</p> + +<p>"<i>Mon Dieu</i>, did one ever see such a child!" +cried the retired notary. "For the love of +Heaven, feed him well, Marie, before you let +him go!"</p> + +<p>But Mini could scarcely eat. He trembled +at the sight of so much food, and chose a crust +as the only thing familiar.</p> + +<p>"Eat, my poor child. Have no fear," said +Madame.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> +<p>"But Angélique," said he.</p> + +<p>"Angélique? Is it the baby?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Madame, if I might have something +for her."</p> + +<p>"Poor little loving boy," said Madame, +tears in her kind eyes. But Mini did not cry; +he had known so many things so much sadder.</p> + +<p>When Mini reached home his mother seized +the basket. Her wretched children crowded +around. There were broken bread and meat +in plenty. "Here—here—and here!" She +distributed crusts, and chose a well-fleshed +bone for her own teeth. Angélique could not +walk, and did not cry, so got nothing. Mini, +however, went to her with the tin pail before +his mother noticed it.</p> + +<p>"Bring that back!" she shouted.</p> + +<p>"Quick, baby!" cried Mini, holding it that +Angélique might drink. But the baby was not +quick enough. Her mother seized the pail +and tasted; the milk was still almost warm. +"Good," said she, reaching for her shawl.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> +<p>"For the love of God, mother!" cried Mini, +"Madame said it was for Angélique." He +knew too well what new milk would trade for. +The woman laughed and flung on her shawl.</p> + +<p>"Only a little, then; only a cupful," cried +Mini, clutching her, struggling weakly to restrain +her. "Only a little cupful for Angélique."</p> + +<p>"Give her bread!" She struck him so that +he reeled, and left the cabin. <i>Then</i> Mini +cried, but not for the blow.</p> + +<p>He placed a soft piece of bread and a thin +shred of meat in Angélique's thin little hand, +but she could not eat, she was so weak. The +elder children sat quietly devouring their food, +each ravenously eying that of the others. But +there was so much that when the father came +he also could eat. He, too, offered Angélique +bread. Then Mini lifted his hand which held +hers and showed beneath the food she had +refused.</p> + +<p>"If she had milk!" said the boy.</p> + +<p>"My God, if I could get some," groaned the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +man, and stopped as a shuffling and tumbling +was heard at the door.</p> + +<p>"She is very drunk," said the man, without +amazement. He helped her in, and, too far +gone to abuse them, she soon lay heavily +breathing near the child she had murdered.</p> + +<p>Mini woke in the pale morning thinking +Angélique very cold in his arms, and, behold, +she was free from all the suffering forever. So +he <i>could</i> not cry, though the mother wept when +she awoke, and shrieked at his tearlessness as +hardhearted.</p> + +<p>Little Angélique had been rowed across the +great river for the last time; night was come +again, and Mini thought he <i>must</i> die; it could +not be that he should be made to live without +Angélique! Then a wondrous thing seemed to +happen. Little Angélique had come back. +He could not doubt it next morning, for, with +the slowly lessening glow from the last brands +of fire had not her face appeared?—then her +form?—and lo! she was closely held in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +arms of the mild Mother whom Mini knew +from her image in the church, only she smiled +more sweetly now in the hut. Little Angélique +had learned to smile, too, which was most +wonderful of all to Mini. In their heavenly +looks was a meaning of which he felt almost +aware; a mysterious happiness was coming +close and closer; with the sense of ineffable +touches near his brow, the boy dreamed. +Nothing more did Mini know till his mother's +voice woke him in the morning. He sprang +up with a cry of "Angélique," and gazed round +upon the familiar squalor.</p> + + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<p>From the summit of Rigaud Mountain a +mighty cross flashes sunlight all over the great +plain of Vaudreuil. The devout <i>habitant</i>, +ascending from vale to hill-top in the county +of Deux Montagnes, bends to the sign he sees +across the forest leagues away. Far off on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +brown Ottawa, beyond the Cascades of Carillon +and the Chute à Blondeau, the keen-eyed +<i>voyageur</i> catches its gleam, and, for gladness +to be nearing the familiar mountain, more +cheerily raises the <i>chanson</i> he loves. Near +St. Placide the early ploughman—while yet +mist wreathes the fields and before the native +Rossignol has fairly begun his plaintive flourishes—watches +the high cross of Rigaud for the +first glint that shall tell him of the yet unrisen +sun. The wayfarer marks his progress by the +bearing of that great cross, the hunter looks to +it for an unfailing landmark, the weatherwise +farmer prognosticates from its appearances. +The old watch it dwindle from sight at evening +with long thoughts of the well-beloved vanished, +who sighed to its vanishing through vanished +years; the dying turn to its beckoning radiance; +happy is the maiden for whose bridal it +wears brightness; blessed is the child thought +to be that holds out tiny hands for the glittering +cross as for a star. Even to the most<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +worldly it often seems flinging beams of heaven, +and to all who love its shining that is a dark +day when it yields no reflection of immortal +meaning.</p> + +<p>To Mini the Cross of Rigaud had as yet +been no more than an indistinct glimmering, +so far from it did he live and so dulled was he +by his sufferings. It promised him no immortal +joys, for how was he to conceive of heaven +except as a cessation of weariness, starvation, +and pain? Not till Angélique had come, in the +vision did he gain certainty that in heaven she +would smile on him always from the mild +Mother's arms. As days and weeks passed +without that dream's return, his imagination was +ever the more possessed by it. Though the +boy looked frailer than ever, people often +remarked with amazement how his eyes wore +some unspeakable happiness.</p> + +<p>Now it happened that one sunny day after +rain Mini became aware that his eyes were +fixed on the Cross of Rigaud. He could not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +make out its form distinctly, but it appeared to +thrill toward him. Under his intent watching +the misty cross seemed gradually to become the +centre of such a light as had enwrapped the +figures of his dream. While he gazed, expecting +his vision of the night to appear in broad +day on the far summit, the light extended, +changed, rose aloft, assumed clear tints, and +shifted quickly to a great rainbow encircling +the hill.</p> + +<p>Mini believed it a token to him. That +Angélique had been there by the cross the +little dreamer doubted not, and the transfiguration +to that arch of glory had some meaning +that his soul yearned to apprehend. The cross +drew his thoughts miraculously; for days thereafter +he dwelt with its shining; more and more +it was borne in on him that he could always +see dimly the outline of little Angélique's face +there; sometimes, staring very steadily for +minutes together, he could even believe that +she beckoned and smiled.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> +<p>"Is Angélique really there, father?" he +asked one day, looking toward the hill-top.</p> + +<p>"Yes, there," answered his father, thinking +the boy meant heaven.</p> + +<p>"I will go to her, then," said Mini to his +heart.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Birds were not stirring when Mini stepped +from the dark cabin into gray dawn, with firm +resolve to join Angélique on the summit. The +Ottawa, with whose flow he went toward Rigaud, +was solemnly shrouded in motionless mist, which +began to roll slowly during the first hour of his +journey. Lifting, drifting, clinging, ever thinner +and more pervaded by sunlight, it was drawn +away so that the unruffled flood reflected a +sky all blue when he had been two hours on +the road. But Mini took no note of the river's +beauty. His eyes were fixed on the cloudy hill-top, +beyond which the sun was climbing. As +yet he could see nothing of the cross, nor of +his vision; yet the world had never seemed so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +glad, nor his heart so light with joy. <i>Habitants</i>, +in their rattling <i>calèches</i>, were amazed by the +glow in the face of a boy so ragged and forlorn. +Some told afterward how they had half +doubted the reality of his rags; for might not +one, if very pure at heart, have been privileged +to see such garments of apparent meanness +change to raiment of angelic texture? Such +things had been, it was said, and certainly the +boy's face was a marvel.</p> + +<p>His look was ever upward to where fibrous +clouds shifted slowly, or packed to level bands +of mist half concealing Rigaud Hill, as the sun +wheeled higher, till at last, in mid-sky, it flung +rays that trembled on the cross, and gradually +revealed the holy sign outlined in upright and +arms. Mini shivered with an awe of expectation; +but no nimbus was disclosed which his +imagination could shape to glorious significance. +Yet he went rapturously onward, firm in the +belief that up there he must see Angélique face +to face.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> +<p>As he journeyed the cross gradually lessened +in height by disappearance behind the nearer +trees, till only a spot of light was left, which +suddenly was blotted out too. Mini drew a +deep breath, and became conscious of the greatness +of the hill,—a towering mass of brown +rock, half hidden by sombre pines and the +delicate greenery of birch and poplar. But +soon, because the cross <i>was</i> hidden, he could +figure it all the more gloriously, and entertain +all the more luminously the belief that there were +heavenly presences awaiting him. He pressed +on with all his speed, and began to ascend the +mountain early in the afternoon.</p> + +<p>"Higher," said the women gathering pearly-bloomed +blueberries on the steep hillside. +"Higher," said the path, ever leading the tired +boy upward from plateau to plateau,—"higher, +to the vision and the radiant space about the +shining cross!"</p> + +<p>Faint with hunger, worn with fatigue, in the +half-trance of physical exhaustion, Mini still<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +dragged himself upward through the afternoon. +At last he knew he stood on the summit level +very near the cross. There the child, awed by +the imminence of what he had sought, halted +to control the rapturous, fearful trembling of his +heart. Would not the heavens surely open? +What words would Angélique first say? Then +again he went swiftly forward through the trees +to the edge of the little cleared space. There +he stood dazed.</p> + +<p>The cross was revealed to him at a few +yards' distance. With woful disillusionment +Mini threw himself face downward on the rock, +and wept hopelessly, sorely; wept and wept, +till his sobs became fainter than the up-borne +long notes of a hermit-thrush far below on the +edge of the plain.</p> + +<p>A tall mast, with a shorter at right angles, +both covered by tin roofing-plates, held on by +nails whence rust had run in streaks,—that was +the shining Cross of Rigaud! Fragments of +newspaper, crusts of bread, empty tin cans,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +broken bottles, the relics of many picnics scattered +widely about the foot of the cross; rude +initial letters cut deeply into its butt where the +tin had been torn away;—these had Mini seen.</p> + +<p>The boy ceased to move. Shadows stole +slowly lengthening over the Vaudreuil champaign; +the sun swooned down in a glamour of +painted clouds; dusk covered from sight the +yellows and browns and greens of the August +fields; birds stilled with the deepening night; +Rigaud Mountain loomed from the plain, a +dark long mass under a flying and waning +moon; stars came out from the deep spaces +overhead, and still Mini lay where he had +wept.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="LITTLE_BAPTISTE" id="LITTLE_BAPTISTE"></a>LITTLE BAPTISTE.</h2> + +<h3>A STORY OF THE OTTAWA RIVER.</h3> + + +<p>Ma'ame Baptiste Larocque peered +again into her cupboard and her flour +barrel, as though she might have been mistaken +in her inspection twenty minutes earlier.</p> + +<p>"No, there is nothing, nothing at all!" said +she to her old mother-in-law. "And no more +trust at the store. Monsieur Conolly was too +cross when I went for corn-meal yesterday. For +sure, Baptiste stays very long at the shanty +this year."</p> + +<p>"Fear nothing, Delima," answered the bright-eyed +old woman. "The good God will send a +breakfast for the little ones, and for us. In +seventy years I do not know Him to fail once, +my daughter. Baptiste may be back to-morrow,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +and with more money for staying so long. No, +no; fear not, Delima! <i>Le bon Dieu</i> manages +all for the best."</p> + +<p>"That is true; for so I have heard always," +answered Delima, with conviction; "but sometimes +<i>le bon Dieu</i> requires one's inside to pray +very loud. Certainly I trust, like you, <i>Memere</i>; +but it would be pleasant if He would send the +food the day before."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you are too anxious, like little Baptiste +here," and the old woman glanced at the boy +sitting by the cradle. "Young folks did not +talk so when I was little. Then we did not +think there was danger in trusting <i>Monsieur le +Curé</i> when he told us to take no heed of the +morrow. But now! to hear them talk, one +might think they had never heard of <i>le bon +Dieu</i>. The young people think too much, for +sure. Trust in the good God, I say. Breakfast +and dinner and supper too we shall all have +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Yes, <i>Memere</i>," replied the boy, who was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +called little Baptiste to distinguish him from his +father. "<i>Le bon Dieu</i> will send an excellent +breakfast, sure enough, if I get up very early, +and find some good <i>doré</i> (pickerel) and catfish +on the night-line. But if I did not bait the +hooks, what then? Well, I hope there will be +more to-morrow than this morning, anyway."</p> + +<p>"There were enough," said the old woman, +severely. "Have we not had plenty all day, +Delima?"</p> + +<p>Delima made no answer. She was in doubt +about the plenty which her mother-in-law spoke +of. She wondered whether small André and +Odillon and 'Toinette, whose heavy breathing +she could hear through the thin partition, would +have been sleeping so peacefully had little +Baptiste not divided his share among them at +supper-time, with the excuse that he did not +feel very well?</p> + +<p>Delima was young yet,—though little Baptiste +was such a big boy,—and would have rested +fully on the positively expressed trust of her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +mother-in-law, in spite of the empty flour barrel, +if she had not suspected little Baptiste of sitting +there hungry.</p> + +<p>However, he was such a strange boy, she +soon reflected, that perhaps going empty did +not make him feel bad! Little Baptiste was so +decided in his ways, made what in others would +have been sacrifices so much as a matter of +course, and was so much disgusted on being +offered credit or sympathy in consequence, that +his mother, not being able to understand him, +was not a little afraid of him.</p> + +<p>He was not very formidable in appearance, +however, that clumsy boy of fourteen or so, +whose big freckled, good face was now bent +over the cradle where <i>la petite</i> Seraphine lay +smiling in her sleep, with soft little fingers +clutched round his rough one.</p> + +<p>"For sure," said Delima, observing the baby's +smile, "the good angels are very near. I wonder +what they are telling her?"</p> + +<p>"Something about her father, of course; for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +so I have always heard it is when the infants +smile in sleep," answered the old woman.</p> + +<p>Little Baptiste rose impatiently and went into +the sleeping-room. Often the simplicity and +sentimentality of his mother and grandmother +gave him strange pangs at heart; they seemed +to be the children, while he felt very old. They +were always looking for wonderful things to +happen, and expecting the saints and <i>le bon +Dieu</i> to help the family out of difficulties that +little Baptiste saw no way of overcoming without +the work which was then so hard to get. +His mother's remark about the angels talking to +little Seraphine pained him so much that he +would have cried had he not felt compelled to +be very much of a man during his father's +absence.</p> + +<p>If he had been asked to name the spirit +hovering about, he would have mentioned a +very wicked one as personified in John Conolly, +the village storekeeper, the vampire of the little +hamlet a quarter of a mile distant. Conolly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +owned the tavern too, and a sawmill up river, +and altogether was a very rich, powerful, and +dreadful person in little Baptiste's view. Worst +of all, he practically owned the cabin and lot of +the Larocques, for he had made big Baptiste +give him a bill of sale of the place as security +for groceries to be advanced to the family while +its head was away in the shanty; and that +afternoon Conolly had said to little Baptiste +that the credit had been exhausted, and more.</p> + +<p>"No; you can't get any pork," said the storekeeper. +"Don't your mother know that, after +me sending her away when she wanted corn-meal +yesterday? Tell her she don't get another +cent's worth here."</p> + +<p>"For why not? My fader always he pay," +said the indignant boy, trying to talk English.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed! Well, he ain't paid this time. +How do I know what's happened to him, as he +ain't back from the shanty? Tell you what: +I'm going to turn you all out if your mother +don't pay rent in advance for the shanty +to-morrow,—four dollars a month."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> +<p>"What you talkin' so for? We doan' goin +pay no rent for our own house!"</p> + +<p>"You doan' goin' to own no house," answered +Conolly, mimicking the boy. "The house is +mine any time I like to say so. If the store +bill ain't paid to-night, out you go to-morrow, or +else pay rent. Tell your mother that for me. +Mosey off now. '<i>Marche, donc!</i>' There's +no other way."</p> + +<p>Little Baptiste had not told his mother of +this terrible threat, for what was the use? She +had no money. He knew that she would begin +weeping and wailing, with small André and +Odillon as a puzzled, excited chorus, with +'Toinette and Seraphine adding those baby +cries that made little Baptiste want to cry himself; +with his grandmother steadily advising, in +the din, that patient trust in <i>le bon Dieu</i> which +he could not always entertain, though he felt +very wretched that he could not.</p> + +<p>Moreover, he desired to spare his mother +and grandmother as long as possible. "Let<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +them have their good night's sleep," said he +to himself, with such thoughtfulness and pity +as a merchant might feel in concealing imminent +bankruptcy from his family. He knew +there was but one chance remaining,—that +his father might come home during the night +or next morning, with his winter's wages.</p> + +<p>Big Baptiste had "gone up" for Rewbell the +jobber; had gone in November, to make logs +in the distant Petawawa woods, and now the +month was May. The "very magnificent" +pig he had salted down before going away had +been eaten long ago. My! what a time it +seemed now to little Baptiste since that pig-killing! +How good the <i>boudin</i> (the blood-puddings) +had been, and the liver and tender +bits, and what a joyful time they had had! +The barrelful of salted pike and catfish was all +gone too,—which made the fact that fish were +not biting well this year very sad indeed.</p> + +<p>Now on top of all these troubles this new +danger of being turned out on the roadside!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +For where are they to get four dollars, or two, +or one even, to stave Conolly off? Certainly +his father was away too long; but surely, surely, +thought the boy, he would get back in time to +save his home! Then he remembered with +horror, and a feeling of being disloyal to his +father for remembering, that terrible day, three +years before, when big Baptiste had come back +from his winter's work drunk, and without a +dollar, having been robbed while on a spree in +Ottawa. If that were the reason of his father's +delay now, ah, then there would be no hope, +unless <i>le bon Dieu</i> should indeed work a miracle +for them!</p> + +<p>While the boy thought over the situation with +fear, his grandmother went to her bed, and soon +afterward Delima took the little Seraphine's +cradle into the sleeping-room. That left little +Baptiste so lonely that he could not sit still; nor +did he see any use of going to lie awake in bed +by André and Odillon.</p> + +<p>So he left the cabin softly, and reaching the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +river with a few steps, pushed off his flat-bottomed +boat, and was carried smartly up +stream by the shore eddy. It soon gave him +to the current, and then he drifted idly down +under the bright moon, listening to the roar of +the long rapid, near the foot of which their +cabin stood. Then he took to his oars, and +rowed to the end of his night-line, tied to the +wharf. He had an unusual fear that it might be +gone, but found it all right, stretched taut; a +slender rope, four hundred feet long, floated +here and there far away in the darkness by flat +cedar sticks,—a rope carrying short bits of line, +and forty hooks, all loaded with excellent fat, +wriggling worms.</p> + +<p>That day little Baptiste had taken much +trouble with his night-line; he was proud of the +plentiful bait, and now, as he felt the tightened +rope with his fingers, he told himself that his +well-filled hooks <i>must</i> attract plenty of fish,—perhaps +a sturgeon! Wouldn't that be grand? +A big sturgeon of seventy-five pounds!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> +<p>He pondered the Ottawa statement that +"there are seven kinds of meat on the head +of a sturgeon," and, enumerating the kinds, fell +into a conviction that one sturgeon at least +would surely come to his line. Had not three +been caught in one night by Pierre Mallette, +who had no sort of claim, who was too lazy to +bait more than half his hooks, altogether too +wicked to receive any special favors from <i>le +bon Dieu</i>?</p> + +<p>Little Baptiste rowed home, entered the cabin +softly, and stripped for bed, almost happy in +guessing what the big fish would probably weigh.</p> + +<p>Putting his arms around little André, he tried +to go to sleep; but the threats of Conolly came +to him with new force, and he lay awake, with +a heavy dread in his heart.</p> + +<p>How long he had been lying thus he did not +know, when a heavy step came upon the plank +outside the door.</p> + +<p>"Father's home!" cried little Baptiste, +springing to the floor as the door opened.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> +<p>"Baptiste! my own Baptiste!" cried Delima, +putting her arms around her husband as he +stood over her.</p> + +<p>"Did I not say," said the old woman, seizing +her son's hand, "that the good God would +send help in time?"</p> + +<p>Little Baptiste lit the lamp. Then they saw +something in the father's face that startled them +all. He had not spoken, and now they perceived +that he was haggard, pale, wild-eyed.</p> + +<p>"The good God!" cried big Baptiste, and +knelt by the bed, and bowed his head on his +arms, and wept so loudly that little André and +Odillon, wakening, joined his cry. "<i>Le bon +Dieu</i> has forgotten us! For all my winter's +work I have not one dollar! The concern is +failed. Rewbell paid not one cent of wages, +but ran away, and the timber has been seized."</p> + +<p>Oh, the heartbreak! Oh, poor Delima! +poor children! and poor little Baptiste, with +the threats of Conolly rending his heart!</p> + +<p>"I have walked all day," said the father,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +"and eaten not a thing. Give me something, +Delima."</p> + +<p>"O holy angels!" cried the poor woman, +breaking into a wild weeping. "O Baptiste, +Baptiste, my poor man! There is nothing; +not a scrap; not any flour, not meal, not grease +even; not a pinch of tea!" but still she +searched frantically about the rooms.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," said big Baptiste then, holding +her in his strong arms. "I am not so +hungry as tired, Delima, and I can sleep."</p> + +<p>The old woman, who had been swaying to +and fro in her chair of rushes, rose now, and +laid her aged hands on the broad shoulders of +the man.</p> + +<p>"My son Baptiste," she said, "you must not +say that God has forgotten us, for He has not +forgotten us. The hunger is hard to bear, I +know,—hard, hard to bear; but great plenty will +be sent in answer to our prayers. And it is +hard, hard to lose thy long winter's work; but +be patient, my son, and thankful, yes, thankful +for all thou hast."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> +<p>"Behold, Delima is well and strong. See +the little Baptiste, how much a man! Yes, +that is right; kiss the little André and Odillon; +and see! how sweetly 'Toinette sleeps! All +strong and well, son Baptiste! Were one gone, +think what thou wouldst have lost! But instead, +be thankful, for behold, another has +been given,—the little Seraphine here, that +thou hast not before seen!"</p> + +<p>Big, rough, soft-hearted Baptiste knelt by the +cradle, and kissed the babe gently.</p> + +<p>"It is true, <i>Memere</i>," he answered, "and I +thank <i>le bon Dieu</i> for his goodness to me."</p> + +<p>But little Baptiste, lying wide awake for +hours afterwards, was not thankful. He could +not see that matters could be much worse. A +big hard lump was in his throat as he thought +of his father's hunger, and the home-coming so +different from what they had fondly counted on. +Great slow tears came into the boy's eyes, and +he wiped them away, ashamed even in the dark +to have been guilty of such weakness.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> +<p>In the gray dawn little Baptiste suddenly +awoke, with the sensation of having slept on +his post. How heavy his heart was! Why? +He sat dazed with indefinite sorrow. Ah, now +he remembered! Conolly threatening to turn +them out! and his father back penniless! No +breakfast! Well, we must see about that.</p> + +<p>Very quietly he rose, put on his patched +clothes, and went out. Heavy mist covered the +face of the river, and somehow the rapid +seemed stilled to a deep, pervasive murmur. +As he pushed his boat off, the morning fog was +chillier than frost about him; but his heart got +lighter as he rowed toward his night-line, and +he became even eager for the pleasure of handling +his fish. He made up his mind not to be +much disappointed if there were no sturgeon, +but could not quite believe there would be +none; surely it was reasonable to expect <i>one</i>, +perhaps two—why not three?—among the +catfish and <i>doré</i>.</p> + +<p>How very taut and heavy the rope felt as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +raised it over his gunwales, and letting the bow +swing up stream, began pulling in the line hand +over hand! He had heard of cases where +every hook had its fish; such a thing might +happen again surely! Yard after yard of rope +he passed slowly over the boat, and down into +the water it sank on his track.</p> + +<p>Now a knot on the line told him he was nearing +the first hook; he watched for the quiver +and struggle of the fish,—probably a big one, +for there he had put a tremendous bait on and +spat on it for luck, moreover. What? the +short line hung down from the rope, and the +baited hook rose clear of the water!</p> + +<p>Baptiste instantly made up his mind that that +hook had been placed a little too far in-shore; +he remembered thinking so before; the next +hook was in about the right place!</p> + +<p>Hand over hand, ah! the second hook, too! +Still baited, the big worm very livid! It must +be thus because that worm was pushed up the +shank of the hook in such a queer way: he had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +been rather pleased when he gave the bait that +particular twist, and now was surprised at himself; +why, any one could see it was a thing to +scare fish!</p> + +<p>Hand over hand to the third,—the hook was +naked of bait! Well, that was more satisfactory; +it showed they had been biting, and, after all, +this was just about the beginning of the right +place.</p> + +<p>Hand over hand; <i>now</i> the splashing will +begin, thought little Baptiste, and out came +the fourth hook with its livid worm! He held +the rope in his hand without drawing it in for a +few moments, but could see no reasonable +objection to that last worm. His heart sank a +little, but pshaw! only four hooks out of forty +were up yet! wait till the eddy behind the shoal +was reached, then great things would be seen. +Maybe the fish had not been lying in that first +bit of current.</p> + +<p>Hand over hand again, now! yes, certainly, +<i>there</i> is the right swirl! What? a <i>losch</i>, that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +unclean semi-lizard! The boy tore it off and +flung it indignantly into the river. However, +there was good luck in a <i>losch</i>; that was +well known.</p> + +<p>But the next hook, and the next, and next, +and next came up baited and fishless. He +pulled hand over hand quickly—not a fish! +and he must have gone over half the line! +Little Baptiste stopped, with his heart like lead +and his arms trembling. It was terrible! Not +a fish, and his father had no supper, and there +was no credit at the store. Poor little Baptiste!</p> + +<p>Again he hauled hand over hand—one hook, +two, three—oh! ho! Glorious! What a delightful +sheer downward the rope took! Surely +the big sturgeon at last, trying to stay down +on the bottom with the hook! But Baptiste +would show that fish his mistake. He pulled, +pulled, stood up to pull; there was a sort of +shake, a sudden give of the rope, and little +Baptiste tumbled over backward as he jerked +his line up from under the big stone!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> +<p>Then he heard the shutters clattering as +Conolly's clerk took them off the store window; +at half-past five to the minute that was always +done. Soon big Baptiste would be up, that +was certain. Again the boy began hauling in +line: baited hook! baited hook! naked hook! +baited hook!—such was still the tale.</p> + +<p>"Surely, surely," implored little Baptiste, +silently, "I shall find some fish!" Up! up! +only four remained! The boy broke down. +Could it be? Had he not somehow skipped +many hooks? Could it be that there was to be +no breakfast for the children? Naked hook +again! Oh, for some fish! anything! three, +two!</p> + +<p>"Oh, send just one for my father!—my +poor, hungry father!" cried little Baptiste, and +drew up his last hook. It came full baited, and +the line was out of the water clear away to his +outer buoy!</p> + +<p>He let go the rope and drifted down the +river, crying as though his heart would break.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +All the good hooks useless! all the labor thrown +away! all his self-confidence come to naught!</p> + +<p>Up rose the great sun; from around the +kneeling boy drifted the last of the morning +mists; bright beams touched his bowed head +tenderly. He lifted his face and looked +up the rapid. Then he jumped to his feet +with sudden wonder; a great joy lit up his +countenance.</p> + +<p>Far up the river a low, broad, white patch appeared +on the sharp sky-line made by the level +dark summit of the long slope of tumbling +water. On this white patch stood many figures +of swaying men black against the clear morning +sky, and little Baptiste saw instantly that an +attempt was being made to "run" a "band" +of deals, or many cribs lashed together, instead +of single cribs as had been done the day +before.</p> + +<p>The broad strip of white changed its form +slowly, dipped over the slope, drew out like a +wide ribbon, and soon showed a distinct slant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +across the mighty volume of the deep raft-channel. +When little Baptiste, acquainted as +he was with every current, eddy, and shoal in +the rapid, saw that slant, he knew that his first +impression of what was about to happen had +been correct. The pilot of the band <i>had</i> +allowed it to drift too far north before reaching +the rapid's head.</p> + +<p>Now the front cribs, instead of following the +curve of the channel, had taken slower water, +while the rear cribs, impelled by the rush under +them, swung the band slowly across the current. +All along the front the standing men swayed +back and forth, plying sweeps full forty feet +long, attempting to swing into channel again, +with their strokes dashing the dark rollers +before the band into wide splashes of white. +On the rear cribs another crew pulled in the +contrary direction; about the middle of the +band stood the pilot, urging his gangs with +gestures to greater efforts.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he made a new motion; the gang<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +behind drew in their oars and ran hastily +forward to double the force in front. But +they came too late! Hardly had the doubled +bow crew taken a stroke when all drew in +their oars and ran back to be out of danger. +Next moment the front cribs struck the +"hog's-back" shoal.</p> + +<p>Then the long broad band curved downward +in the centre, the rear cribs swung into the +shallows on the opposite side of the raft-channel, +there was a great straining and +crashing, the men in front huddled together, +watching the wreck anxiously, and the band +went speedily to pieces. Soon a fringe of +single planks came down stream, then cribs and +pieces of cribs; half the band was drifting +with the currents, and half was "hung up" on +the rocks among the breakers.</p> + +<p>Launching the big red flat-bottomed bow +boat, twenty of the raftsmen came with wild +speed down the river, and as there had been no +rush to get aboard, little Baptiste knew that the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +cribs on which the men stood were so hard +aground that no lives were in danger. It +meant much to him; it meant that he was +instantly at liberty to gather in <i>money</i>! money, +in sums that loomed to gigantic figures before +his imagination.</p> + +<p>He knew that there was an important reason +for hurrying the deals to Quebec, else the great +risk of running a band at that season would not +have been undertaken; and he knew that hard +cash would be paid down as salvage for all +planks brought ashore, and thus secured from +drifting far and wide over the lake-like expanse +below the rapid's foot. Little Baptiste plunged +his oars in and made for a clump of deals floating +in the eddy near his own shore. As he +rushed along, the raftsmen's boat crossed his +bows, going to the main raft below for ropes +and material to secure the cribs coming down +intact.</p> + +<p>"Good boy!" shouted the foreman to +Baptiste. "Ten cents for every deal you fetch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +ashore above the raft!" Ten cents! he had +expected but five! What a harvest!</p> + +<p>Striking his pike-pole into the clump of deals,—"fifty +at least," said joyful Baptiste,—he +soon secured them to his boat, and then pulled, +pulled, pulled, till the blood rushed to his head, +and his arms ached, before he landed his +wealth.</p> + +<p>"Father!" cried he, bursting breathlessly +into the sleeping household. "Come quick! I +can't get it up without you."</p> + +<p>"Big sturgeon?" cried the shantyman, jumping +into his trousers.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but we shall have a good fish breakfast!" +cried Delima.</p> + +<p>"Did I not say the blessed <i>le bon Dieu</i> would +send plenty fish?" observed <i>Memere</i>.</p> + +<p>"Not a fish!" cried little Baptiste, with +recovered breath. "But look! look!" and he +flung open the door. The eddy was now white +with planks.</p> + +<p>"Ten cents for each!" cried the boy. "The +foreman told me."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> +<p>"Ten cents!" shouted his father. "<i>Baptême!</i> +it's my winter's wages!"</p> + +<p>And the old grandmother! And Delima? +Why, they just put their arms round each other +and cried for joy.</p> + +<p>"And yet there's no breakfast," said Delima, +starting up. "And they will work hard, hard."</p> + +<p>At that instant who should reach the door +but Monsieur Conolly! He was a man who +respected cash wherever he found it, and +already the two Baptistes had a fine show +ashore.</p> + +<p>"Ma'ame Larocque," said Conolly, politely, +putting in his head, "of course you know I was +only joking yesterday. You can get anything +you want at the store."</p> + +<p>What a breakfast they did have, to be sure! +the Baptistes eating while they worked. Back +and forward they dashed till late afternoon, driving +ringed spikes into the deals, running light +ropes through the rings, and, when a good +string had thus been made, going ashore to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +haul in. At that hauling Delima and <i>Memere</i>, +even little André and Odillon gave a hand.</p> + +<p>Everybody in the little hamlet made money +that day, but the Larocques twice as much as +any other family, because they had an eddy and +a low shore. With the help of the people +"the big <i>Bourgeois</i>" who owned the broken +raft got it away that evening, and saved his +fat contract after all.</p> + +<p>"Did I not say so?" said "<i>Memere</i>," at +night, for the hundredth time. "Did I not +say so? Yes, indeed, <i>le bon Dieu</i> watches +over us all."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, grandmother," echoed little +Baptiste, thinking of his failure on the night-line. +"We may take as much trouble as we +like, but it's no use unless <i>le bon Dieu</i> helps +us. Only—I don' know what de big Bourgeois +say about that—his raft was all broke up so +bad."</p> + +<p>"Ah, <i>oui</i>," said <i>Memere</i>, looking puzzled for +but a moment. "But he didn't put his trust<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +in <i>le bon Dieu</i>; that's it, for sure. Besides, +maybe <i>le bon Dieu</i> want to teach him a lesson; +he'll not try for run a whole band of deals +next time. You see that was a tempting of +Providence; and then—the big Bourgeois is +a Protestant."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_RIDE_BY_NIGHT" id="THE_RIDE_BY_NIGHT"></a>THE RIDE BY NIGHT.</h2> + + +<p>Mr. Adam Baines is a little Gray about +the temples, but still looks so young +that few could suppose him to have served in +the Civil War. Indeed, he was in the army +less than a year. How he went out of it he +told me in some such words as these:—</p> + +<p>An orderly from the direction of Meade's +headquarters galloped into our parade ground, +and straight for the man on guard before the +colonel's tent. That was pretty late in the +afternoon of a bright March day in 1865, but +the parade ground was all red mud with shallow +pools. I remember well how the hind hoofs of +the orderly's galloper threw away great chunks +of earth as he splashed diagonally across the +open.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> +<p>His rider never slowed till he brought his +horse to its haunches before the sentry. There +he flung himself off instantly, caught up his +sabre, and ran through the middle opening +of the high screen of sapling pines stuck on +end, side by side, all around the acre or so +occupied by the officers' quarters.</p> + +<p>The day, though sunny, was not warm, and +nearly all the men of my regiment were in +their huts when that galloping was heard. +Then they hurried out like bees from rows +of hives, ran up the lanes between the lines +of huts, and collected, each company separately, +on the edge of the parade ground opposite the +officers' quarters.</p> + +<p>You see we had a notion that the orderly +had brought the word to break camp. For five +months the Army of the Potomac had been in +winter quarters, and for weeks nothing more +exciting than vidette duty had broken the +monotony of our brigade. We understood that +Sheridan had received command of all Grant's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +cavalry, but did not know but the orderly had +rushed from Sheridan himself. Yet we awaited +the man's re-appearance with intense curiosity.</p> + +<p>Soon, instead of the orderly, out ran our +first lieutenant, a small, wiry, long-haired man +named Miller. He was in undress uniform,—just +a blouse and trousers,—and bare-headed. +Though he wore low shoes, he dashed through +mud and water toward us, plainly in a great +hurry.</p> + +<p>"Sergeant Kennedy, I want ten men at once—mounted," +Miller said. "Choose the ten +best able for a long ride, and give them the +best horses in the company. You understand,—no +matter whose the ten best horses are, give +'em to the ten best riders."</p> + +<p>"I understand, sir," said Kennedy.</p> + +<p>By this time half the company had started +for the stables, for fully half considered themselves +among the best riders. The lieutenant +laughed at their eagerness.</p> + +<p>"Halt, boys!" he cried. "Sergeant, I'll<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +pick out four myself. Come yourself, and bring +Corporal Crowfoot, Private Bader, and Private +Absalom Gray."</p> + +<p>Crowfoot, Bader, and Gray had been running +for the stables with the rest. Now these three +old soldiers grinned and walked, as much as to +say, "We needn't hurry; we're picked anyhow;" +while the others hurried on. I remained +near Kennedy, for I was so young and green a +soldier that I supposed I had no chance to go.</p> + +<p>"Hurry up! parade as soon as possible. +One day's rations; light marching order—no +blankets—fetch over-coats and ponchos," said +Miller, turning; "and in choosing your men, +favor light weights."</p> + +<p>That was, no doubt, the remark which +brought me in. I was lanky, light, bred among +horses, and one of the best in the regiment +had fallen to my lot. Kennedy wheeled, and +his eye fell on me.</p> + +<p>"Saddle up, Adam, boy," said he; "I guess +you'll do."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> +<p>Lieutenant Miller ran back to his quarters, +his long hair flying wide. When he reappeared +fifteen minutes later, we were trotting across +the parade ground to meet him. He was +mounted, not on his own charger, but on the +colonel's famous thorough-bred bay. Then we +knew a hard ride must be in prospect.</p> + +<p>"What! one of the boys?" cried Miller, +as he saw me. "He's too young."</p> + +<p>"He's very light, sir; tough as hickory. I +guess he'll do," said Kennedy.</p> + +<p>"Well, no time to change now. Follow me! +But, hang it, you've got your carbines! Oh, I +forgot! Keep pistols only! throw down your +sabres and carbines—anywhere—never mind +the mud!"</p> + +<p>As we still hesitated to throw down our +clean guns, he shouted: "Down with them—anywhere! +Now, boys, after me, by twos! Trot—gallop!"</p> + +<p>Away we went, not a man jack of us knew +for where or what. The colonel and officers,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +standing grouped before regimental headquarters, +volleyed a cheer at us. It was taken +up by the whole regiment; it was taken up by +the brigade; it was repeated by regiment after +regiment of infantry as we galloped through the +great camp toward the left front of the army. +The speed at which Miller led over a rough +corduroy road was extraordinary, and all the +men suspected some desperate enterprise afoot.</p> + +<p>Red and brazen was the set of the sun. I +remember it well, after we got clear of the +forts, clear of the breastworks, clear of the +reserves, down the long slope and across the wide +ford of Grimthorpe's Creek, never drawing +rein.</p> + +<p>The lieutenant led by ten yards or so. He +had ordered each two to take as much distance +from the other two in advance; but we rode +so fast that the water from the heels of his +horse and from the heels of each two splashed +into the faces of the following men.</p> + +<p>From the ford we loped up a hill, and passed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +the most advanced infantry pickets, who laughed +and chaffed us, asking us for locks of our hair, +and if our mothers knew we were out, and +promising to report our last words faithfully to +the folks at home.</p> + +<p>Soon we turned to the left again, swept close +by several cavalry videttes, and knew then that +we were bound for a ride through a country +that might or might not be within Lee's outer +lines, at that time extended so thinly in many +places that his pickets were far out of touch with +one another. To this day I do not know precisely +where we went, nor precisely what for. Soldiers +are seldom informed of the meaning of their +movements.</p> + +<p>What I do know is what we did while I was +in the ride. As we were approaching dense +pine woods the lieutenant turned in his saddle, +slacked pace a little, and shouted, "Boys, +bunch up near me!"</p> + +<p>He screwed round in his saddle so far that +we could all see and hear, and said:—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> +<p>"Boys, the order is to follow this road as +fast as we can till our horses drop, or else the +Johnnies drop us, or else we drop upon three +brigades of our own infantry. I guess they've got +astray somehow; but I don't know myself what +the trouble is. Our orders are plain. The +brigades are supposed to be somewhere on this +road. I guess we shall do a big thing if we +reach those men to-night. All we've got to do +is to ride and deliver this despatch to the +general in command. You all understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir! Yes, sir! Yes, sir!"</p> + +<p>"It's necessary you all should. Hark, now! +We are not likely to strike the enemy in force, +but we are likely to run up against small +parties. Now, Kennedy, if they down me, you +are to stop just long enough to grab the +despatch from my breast; then away you go,—always +on the main road. If they down you +after you've got the paper, the man who can +grab it first is to take it and hurry forward. So +on right to the last man. If they down him,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +and he's got his senses when he falls, he's to +tear the paper up, and scatter it as widely as he +can. You all understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir! Yes, sir!"</p> + +<p>"All right, then. String out again!"</p> + +<p>He touched the big bay with the spur, and +shot quickly ahead.</p> + +<p>With the long rest of the winter our horses +were in prime spirits, though mostly a little too +fleshy for perfect condition. I had cared well +for my horse; he was fast and sound in wind +and limb. I was certainly the lightest rider of +the eleven.</p> + +<p>I was still thinking of the probability that I +should get further on the way than any comrade +except the lieutenant, or perhaps Crowfoot and +Bader, whose horses were in great shape; I +was thinking myself likely to win promotion +before morning, when a cry came out of the +darkness ahead. The words of the challenge I +was not able to catch, but I heard Miller shout, +"Forward, boys!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> +<p>We shook out more speed just as a rifle spat +its long flash at us from about a hundred yards +ahead. For one moment I plainly saw the +Southerner's figure. Kennedy reeled beside +me, flung up his hands with a scream, and fell. +His horse stopped at once. In a moment the +lieutenant had ridden the sentry down.</p> + +<p>Then from the right side of the road a party, +who must have been lying round the camp-fire +that we faintly saw in among the pines, let fly +at us. They had surely been surprised in their +sleep. I clearly saw them as their guns flashed.</p> + +<p>"Forward! Don't shoot! Ride on," shouted +Miller. "Bushwhackers! Thank God, not +mounted! Any of you make out horses with +them?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir! No, sir!"</p> + +<p>"Who yelled? who went down?"</p> + +<p>"Kennedy, sir," I cried.</p> + +<p>"Too bad! Any one else?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"All safe?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> +<p>"I'm touched in my right arm; but it's +nothing," I said. The twinge was slight, and +in the fleshy place in front of my shoulder. I +could not make out that I was losing blood, +and the pain from the hurt was scarcely +perceptible.</p> + +<p>"Good boy! Keep up, Adam!" called the +lieutenant with a kind tone. I remember my +delight that he spoke my front name. On we +flew.</p> + +<p>Possibly the shots had been heard by the +party half a mile further on, for they greeted us +with a volley. A horse coughed hard and +pitched down behind me. His rider yelled as +he fell. Then two more shots came: Crowfoot +reeled in front of me, and somehow checked +his horse. I saw him no more. Next moment +we were upon the group with our pistols.</p> + +<p>"Forward, men! Don't stop to fight!" +roared Miller, as he got clear. A rifle was +fired so close to my head that the flame burned +my back hair, and my ears rang for half an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +hour or more. My bay leaped high and dashed +down a man. In a few seconds I was fairly +out of the scrimmage.</p> + +<p>How many of my comrades had gone down +I knew not, nor beside whom I was riding. +Suddenly our horses plunged into a hole; his +stumbled, the man pitched forward, and was +left behind. Then I heard a shot, the clatter +of another falling horse, the angry yell of +another thrown rider.</p> + +<p>On we went,—the relics of us. Now we +rushed out of the pine forest into broad moonlight, +and I saw two riders between me and the +lieutenant,—one man almost at my shoulder +and another galloping ten yards behind. Very +gradually this man dropped to the rear. We +had lost five men already, and still the night +was young.</p> + +<p>Bader and Absalom Gray were nearest me. +Neither spoke a word till we struck upon a +space of sandy road. Then I could hear, far +behind the rear man, a sound of galloping on +the hard highway.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> +<p>"They're after us, lieutenant!" shouted +Bader.</p> + +<p>"Many?" He slacked speed, and we listened +attentively.</p> + +<p>"Only one," cried Miller. "He's coming +fast."</p> + +<p>The pursuer gained so rapidly that we looked +to our pistols again. Then Absalom Gray cried:</p> + +<p>"It's only a horse!"</p> + +<p>In a few moments the great gray of fallen +Corporal Crowfoot overtook us, went ahead, +and slacked speed by the lieutenant.</p> + +<p>"Good! He'll be fresh when the rest go +down!" shouted Miller. "Let the last man +mount the gray!"</p> + +<p>By this time we had begun to think ourselves +clear of the enemy, and doomed to race on till +the horses should fall.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the hoofs of Crowfoot's gray and +the lieutenant's bay thundered upon a plank +road whose hollow noise, when we all reached +it, should have been heard far. It took us<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +through wide orchard lands into a low-lying +mist by the banks of a great marsh, till we +passed through that fog, strode heavily up a +slope, and saw the shimmer of roofs under the +moon. Straight, through the main street we +pounded along.</p> + +<p>Whether it was wholly deserted I know not, +but not a human being was in the streets, nor +any face visible at the black windows. Not +even a dog barked. I noticed no living thing +except some turkeys roosting on a fence, and +a white cat that sprang upon the pillar of a +gateway and thence to a tree.</p> + +<p>Some of the houses seemed to have been +ruined by a cannonade. I suppose it was one +of the places almost destroyed in Willoughby's +recent raid. Here we thundered, expecting +ambush and conflict every moment, while the +loneliness of the street imposed on me such +a sense as might come of galloping through a +long cemetery of the dead.</p> + +<p>Out of the village we went off the planks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +again upon sand. I began to suspect that I +was losing a good deal of blood. My brain +was on fire with whirling thoughts and wonder +where all was to end. Out of this daze I came, +in amazement to find that we were quickly +overtaking our lieutenant's thoroughbred.</p> + +<p>Had he been hit in the fray, and bled to +weakness? I only know that, still galloping +while we gained, the famous horse lurched forward, +almost turned a somersault, and fell on +his rider.</p> + +<p>"Stop—the paper!" shouted Bader.</p> + +<p>We drew rein, turned, dismounted, and found +Miller's left leg under the big bay's shoulder. +The horse was quite dead, the rider's long hair +lay on the sand, his face was white under the +moon!</p> + +<p>We stopped long enough to extricate him, +and he came to his senses just as we made out +that his left leg was broken.</p> + +<p>"Forward!" he groaned. "What in thunder +are you stopped for? Oh, the despatch! Here! +away you go! Good-bye."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> +<p>In attending to Miller we had forgotten the +rider who had been long gradually dropping +behind. Now as we galloped away,—Bader, +Absalom Gray, myself, and Crowfoot's riderless +horse,—I looked behind for that comrade; +but he was not to be seen or heard. We three +were left of the eleven.</p> + +<p>From the loss of so many comrades the +importance of our mission seemed huge. With +the speed, the noise, the deaths, the strangeness +of the gallop through that forsaken village, the +wonder how all would end, the increasing belief +that thousands of lives depended on our success, +and the longing to win, my brain was +wild. A raging desire to be first held me, and +I galloped as if in a dream.</p> + +<p>Bader led; the riderless gray thundered +beside him; Absalom rode stirrup to stirrup +with me. He was a veteran of the whole war. +Where it was that his sorrel rolled over I do +not remember at all, though I perfectly remember +how Absalom sprang up, staggered, shouted,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +"My foot is sprained!" and fell as I turned to +look at him and went racing on.</p> + +<p>Then I heard above the sound of our hoofs +the voice of the veteran of the war. Down as +he was, his spirit was unbroken. In the favorite +song of the army his voice rose clear and gay +and piercing:—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Hurrah for the Union!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hurrah, boys, hurrah!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shouting the battle-cry of freedom!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>We turned our heads and cheered him as +we flew, for there was something indescribably +inspiriting in the gallant and cheerful lilt of the +fallen man. It was as if he flung us, from the +grief of utter defeat, a soul unconquerable; and +I felt the life in me strengthened by the tone.</p> + +<p>Old Bader and I for it! He led by a +hundred yards, and Crowfoot's gray kept his +stride. Was I gaining on them? How was it +that I could see his figure outlined more clearly +against the horizon? Surely dawn was not +coming on!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> +<p>No; I looked round on a world of naked +peach-orchards, and corn-fields ragged with last +year's stalks, all dimly lit by a moon that +showed far from midnight; and that faint light +on the horizon was not in the east, but in the +west. The truth flashed on me,—I was looking +at such an illumination of the sky as would +be caused by the camp-fires of an army.</p> + +<p>"The missing brigade!" I shouted.</p> + +<p>"Or a Southern division!" Bader cried. +"Come on!"</p> + +<p>"Come on!" I was certainly gaining on him, +but very slowly. Before the nose of my bay +was beyond the tail of his roan, the wide illuminations +had become more distinct; and still +not a vidette, not a picket, not a sound of the +proximity of an army.</p> + +<p>Bader and I now rode side by side, and +Crowfoot's gray easily kept the pace. My +horse was in plain distress, but Bader's was +nearly done.</p> + +<p>"Take the paper, Adam," he said; "my roan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +won't go much further. Good-bye, youngster. +Away you go!" and I drew now quickly ahead.</p> + +<p>Still Bader rode on behind me. In a few +minutes he was considerably behind. Perhaps +the sense of being alone increased my feeling +of weakness. Was I going to reel out of the +saddle? Had I lost so much blood as that? +Still I could hear Bader riding on. I turned to +look at him. Already he was scarcely visible. +Soon he dropped out of sight; but still I heard +the laborious pounding of his desperate horse.</p> + +<p>My bay was gasping horribly. How far was +that faintly yellow sky ahead? It might be +two, it might be five miles. Were Union or +Southern soldiers beneath it? Could it be +conceived that no troops of the enemy were +between me and it?</p> + +<p>Never mind; my orders were clear. I rode +straight on, and I was still riding straight on, +marking no increase in the distress of my bay, +when he stopped as if shot, staggered, fell on +his knees, tried to rise, rolled to his side, +groaned and lay.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> +<p>I was so weak I could not clear myself. I +remember my right spur catching in my saddle-cloth +as I tried to free my foot; then I pitched +forward and fell. Not yet senseless, I clutched +at my breast for the despatch, meaning to tear +it to pieces; but there my brain failed, and in +full view of the goal of the night I lay +unconscious.</p> + +<p>When I came to, I rose on my left elbow, +and looked around. Near my feet my poor +bay lay, stone dead. Crowfoot's gray!—where +was Crowfoot's gray? It flashed on me that I +might mount the fresh horse and ride on. But +where was the gray? As I peered round I +heard faintly the sound of a galloper. Was he +coming my way? No; faintly and more faintly +I heard the hoofs.</p> + +<p>Had the gray gone on then, without the +despatch? I clutched at my breast. My coat +was unbuttoned—the paper was gone!</p> + +<p>Well, sir, I cheered. My God! but it was +comforting to hear those far-away hoofs, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +know that Bader must have come up, taken the +papers, and mounted Crowfoot's gray, still good +for a ten-mile ride! The despatch was gone +forward; we had not all fallen in vain; maybe +the brigades would be saved!</p> + +<p>How purely the stars shone! When I stifled +my groaning they seemed to tell me of a great +peace to come. How still was the night! and +I thought of the silence of the multitudes who +had died for the Union.</p> + +<p>Now the galloping had quite died away. +There was not a sound,—a slight breeze blew, +but there were no leaves to rustle. I put my +head down on the neck of my dead horse. +Extreme fatigue was benumbing the pain of my +now swelling arm; perhaps sleep was near, +perhaps I was swooning.</p> + +<p>But a sound came that somewhat revived me. +Far, low, joyful, it crept on the air. I sat up, +wide awake. The sound, at first faint, died as +the little breeze fell, then grew in the lull, and +came ever more clearly as the wind arose. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +was a sound never to be forgotten,—the sound +of the distant cheering of thousands of men.</p> + +<p>Then I knew that Bader had galloped into +the Union lines, delivered the despatch, and +told a story which had quickly passed through +wakeful brigades.</p> + +<p>Bader I never saw again, nor Lieutenant +Miller, nor any man with whom I rode that +night. When I came to my senses I was in +hospital at City Point. Thence I went home +invalided. No surgeon, no nurse, no soldier +at the hospital could tell me of my regiment, +or how or why I was where I was. All they +could tell me was that Richmond was taken, +the army far away in pursuit of Lee, and a +rumor flying that the great commander of the +South had surrendered near Appomattox Court +House.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="DRAFTED" id="DRAFTED"></a>"DRAFTED."</h2> + + +<p>Harry Wallbridge, awaking with a +sense of some alarming sound, listened +intently in the darkness, seeing overhead the +canvas roof faintly outlined, the darker stretch +of its ridge-pole, its two thin slanting rafters, +and the gable ends of the winter hut. He could +not hear the small, fine drizzle from an atmosphere +surcharged with water, nor anything but +the drip from canvas to trench, the rustling of +hay bunched beneath his head, the regular +breathing of his "buddy," Corporal Bader, and +the stamping of horses in stables. But when a +soldier in a neighboring tent called indistinguishably +in the accents of nightmare, Bader's +breathing quieted, and in the lull Harry fancied +the soaked air weighted faintly with steady<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +picket-firing. A month with the 53d Pennsylvania +Veteran Volunteer Cavalry had not quite disabused +the young recruit of his schoolboy belief +that the men of the Army of the Potomac must +live constantly within sound of the out-posts.</p> + +<p>Harry sat up to hearken better, and then concluded +that he had mistaken for musketry the +crackle of haystalks under his poncho sheet. +Beneath him the round poles of his bed +sagged as he drew up his knees and gathered +about his shoulders the gray blanket damp from +the spray of heavy rain against the canvas earlier +in the night. Soon, with slow dawn's +approach, he could make out the dull white of +his carbine and sabre against the mud-plastered +chimney. In that drear dimness the boy shivered, +with a sense of misery rather than from +cold, and yearned as only sleepy youth can for +the ease of a true bed and dry warm swooning +to slumber. He was sustained by no mature +sense that this too would pass; it was with a +certain bodily despair that he felt chafed and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +compressed by his rough garments, and pitied +himself, thinking how his mother would cry if +she could see him crouched so wretchedly +that wet March morning, pressed all the more +into loneliness by the regular breathing of veteran +Bader in the indifference of deep sleep.</p> + +<p>Harry's vision of his mother coming into his +room, shading her candle with her hand to see +if he were asleep, passed away as a small gust +came, shaking the canvas, for he was instantly +alert with a certainty that the breeze had borne +a strong rolling of musketry.</p> + +<p>"Bader, Bader!" he said. "Bader!"</p> + +<p>"Can't you shut up, you Wallbridge?" came +Orderly Sergeant Gravely's sharp tones from the +next tent.</p> + +<p>"What's wrong with you, Harry, boy?" +asked Bader, turning.</p> + +<p>"I thought I heard heavy firing closer than +the picket lines; twice now I've thought I +heard it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I guess not, Harry. The Johnnies<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +won't come out no such night as this. Keep +quiet, or you'll have the sergeant on top of you. +Better lie down and try to sleep, buddy; the +bugles will call morning soon now."</p> + +<p>Again Harry fell to his revery of home, and +his vision became that of the special evening on +which his boyish wish to go to the war had, for +the family's sake, become resolve. He saw his +mother's spectacled and lamp-lit face as she, +leaning to the table, read in the familiar Bible; +little Fred and Mary, also facing the table's +central lamp, bent sleepy heads over their +school-books; the father sat in the rocking-chair, +with his right hand on the paper he had +laid down, and gazed gloomily at the coals fallen +below the front doors of the wood-burning +stove. Harry dreamed himself back in his own +chair, looking askance, and feeling sure his +father was inwardly groaning over the absence +of Jack, the eldest son. Then nine o'clock +struck, and Fred and Mary began to put their +books away in preparation for bed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> +<p>"Wait a little, children," Mrs. Wallbridge +said, serene in tone from her devotional reading. +"Father wants that I should tell you something. +You mustn't feel bad about it. It's +that we may soon go out West. Your Uncle +Ezra is doing well in Minnesota. Aunt Elvira +says so in her letter that came to-day."</p> + +<p>"It's this way, children," said Mr. Wallbridge, +ready to explain, now that the subject +was opened. "Since ever your brother Jack +went away South, the store expenses have been +too heavy. It's near five years now he's been +gone. There's a sheaf of notes coming due +the third of next month; twice they've been +renewed, and the Philadelphia men say they'll +close me up this time sure. If I had eight +hundred dollars—but it's no use talking; +we'll just have to let them take what we've got. +Times have been bad right along around here, +anyhow, with new competition, and so many +farmers gone to the war, and more gone West. If +Jack had stopped to home—but I've had to pay<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +two clerks to do his work, and then they don't +take any interest in the business. Mind, I'm +not blaming Jack, poor fellow,—he'd a right to +go where he'd get more'n his keep, and be +able to lay up something for himself,—but +what's become of him, God knows; and such +a smart, good boy as he was! He'd got fond +of New Orleans,—I guess some nice girl there, +maybe, was the reason; and there he'd stay +after the war began, and now it's two years and +more since we've heard from him. Dead, +maybe, or maybe they'd put him in jail, for he +said he'd never join the Confederates, nor fight +against them either—he felt that way—North +and South was all the same to him. And so +he's gone; and I don't see my way now at all. +Ma, if it wasn't for my lame leg, I'd take the +bounty. It'd be <i>something</i> for you and the +children after the store's gone."</p> + +<p>"Sho, pa! don't talk that way! You're too +down-hearted. It'll all come right, with the +Lord's help," said Harry's mother. How<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +clearly he, in the damp cold tent, could see her +kind looks as she pushed up her spectacles and +beamed on her husband; how distinctly, in the +still dim dawn, he heard her soothing tones!</p> + +<p>It was that evening's talk which had sent +Harry, so young, to the front. Three village +boys, little older than he, had already contrived +to enlist. Every time he saw the Flag drooping, +he thought shame of himself to be absent +from the ranks of its upholders; and now, just +as he was believing himself big and old enough +to serve, he conceived that duty to his parents +distinctly enjoined him to go. So in the night, +without leave-taking or consent of his parents, +he departed. The combined Federal, State, +and city bounties offered at Philadelphia +amounted to nine hundred dollars cash that +dreadful winter before Richmond fell, and +Harry sent the money home triumphantly in +time to pay his father's notes and save the store.</p> + +<p>While the young soldier thought it all over, +carbine and sabre came out more and more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +distinctly outlined above the mud-plastered +fireplace. The drizzle had ceased, the drip into +the trench was almost finished, intense stillness +ruled; Harry half expected to hear cocks crow +from out such silence.</p> + +<p>Listening for them, his dreamy mind brooded +over both hosts, in a vision even as wide as the +vast spread of the Republic in which they lay as +two huddles of miserable men. For what were +they all about him this woful, wet night? they all +fain, as he, for home and industry and comfort. +What delusion held them? How could it be +that they could not all march away and separate, +and the cruel war be over? Harry caught his +breath at the idea,—it seemed so natural, simple, +easy, and good a solution. Becoming absorbed +in the fancy, tired of listening, and soothed by +the silence, he was falling asleep as he sat, +when a heavy weight seemed to fall, far away. +Another—another—the fourth had the rumble +of distant thunder, and seemed followed by +a concussion of the air.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> +<p>"Hey—Big Guns! What's up toward City +Point?" cried Bader, sitting up. "I tell you +they're at it. It can't be so far away as Butler. +What? On the left too! That was toward +Hatcher's Run! Harry, the rebs are out in earnest! +I guess you did hear the pickets trying +to stop 'em. What a morning! Ha—Fort +Hell! see that!"</p> + +<p>The outside world was dimly lighted up for a +moment. In the intensified darkness that +followed Bader's voice was drowned by the +crash of a great gun from the neighboring fort. +<i>Flash, crash—flash, crash—flash, crash</i> succeeded +rapidly. Then the intervals of Fort +Hell's fire lengthened to the regular periods for +loading, and between her roars were heard the +sullen boom of more distant guns, while through +all the tumult ran a fierce undertone,—the +infernal hurrying of musketry along the immediate +front.</p> + +<p>"The Johnnies must have got in close somehow," +cried Bader. "Hey, Sergeant?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> +<p>"Yes," shouted Gravely. "Scooped up the +pickets and supports too in the rain, I guess. +Turn out, boys, turn out! there'll be a wild day. +Kid! Where's the Kid? Kid Sylvester!"</p> + +<p>"Here! All right, Barney; I'll be out in +two shakes," shouted the bugler.</p> + +<p>"Hurry, then! I can hear the Colonel shouting +already. Man, listen to that!"—as four of +Fort Hell's guns crashed almost simultaneously. +"Brownie! Greasy Cook! O Brownie!"</p> + +<p>"Here!" shouted the cook.</p> + +<p>"Get your fire started right away, and see +what salt horse and biscuit you can scare up. +Maybe we'll have time for a snack."</p> + +<p>"Turn out, Company K!" shouted Lieutenant +Bradley, running down from the officers' +quarters. "Where's the commissary sergeant? +There?—all right—give out feed right away! +Get your oats, men, and feed instantly! We +may have time. Hullo! here's the General's +orderly."</p> + +<p>As the trooper galloped, in a mud-storm,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +across the parade ground, a group of officers ran +out behind the Colonel from the screen of pine +saplings about Regimental Headquarters. The +orderly gave the Colonel but a word, and, +wheeling, was off again as "Boot and saddle" +blared from the buglers, who had now assembled +on parade.</p> + +<p>"But leave the bits out—let your horses +feed!" cried the Lieutenant, running down again. +"We're not to march till further orders."</p> + +<p>Beyond the screen of pines Harry could see +the tall canvas ridges of the officers' cabins +lighted up. Now all the tents of the regiment, +row behind row, were faintly luminous, and the +renewed drizzle of the dawn was a little lightened +in every direction by the canvas-hidden +candles of infantry regiments, the glare of +numerous fires already started, and sparks +showering up from the cook-houses of company +after company.</p> + +<p>Soon in the cloudy sky the cannonade rolled +about in broad day, which was still so gray that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +long wide flashes of flame could be seen to +spring far out before every report from the guns +of Fort Hell, and in the haze but few of the +rebel shells shrieking along their high curve +could be clearly seen bursting over Hancock's +cheering men. Indistinguishably blent were +the sounds of hosts on the move, field-guns +pounding to the front, troops shouting, the +clink and rattle of metal, officers calling, bugles +blaring, drums rolling, mules screaming,—all +heard as a running accompaniment to the +cannon heavily punctuating the multitudinous +din.</p> + +<p>"Fwat sinse in the ould man bodderin' us?" +grumbled Corporal Kennedy, a tall Fenian dragoon +from the British army. "Sure, ain't it as +plain as the sun—and faith the same's not +plain this dirthy mornin'—that there's no work +for cavalry the day, barrin' it's escortin' the +doughboys' prisoners, if they take any?—bad +'cess to the job. Sure it's an infantry fight, and +must be, wid the field-guns helpin', and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +siege pieces boomin' away over the throops in +the mud betwigst our own breastworks and the +inner line of our forts.</p> + +<p>"Oh, by this and by that," the corporal +grumbled on, "ould Lee's not the gintleman I +tuk him for at all, at all,—discomfortin' us in the +rain,—and yesterday an illigant day for fightin'. +Couldn't he wait, like the dacint ould boy he's +reported, for a dhry mornin', instead av turnin' +his byes out in the shlush and destroyin' me +chanst av breakfast? It's spring chickens I'd +ordhered."</p> + +<p>"You may get up to spring-chicken country +soon, now," said Bader. "I'm thinking this is +near the end; it's the last assault that Lee +will ever deliver."</p> + +<p>"Faith, I dunno," said the corporal; "that's +what we've been saying sinst last fall, but the +shtay of them Johnnies bates Banagher and the +prophets. Hoo—ow! by the powers! did you +hear them yell? Fwat? The saints be wid us! +who'd 'a' thought it possible? Byes! Bader!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +Harry! luk at the Johnnies swarmin' up the face +of Hell!"</p> + +<p>Off there Harry could dimly see, rising over +the near horizon made by tents, a straggling +rush of men up the steep slope, while the rebel +yell came shrill from a multitude behind on the +level ground that was hidden from the place +occupied by the cavalry regiment. In the next +moment the force mounting Fort Hell's slope +fell away, some lying where shot down, some +rolling, some running and stumbling in heaps; +then a tremendous musketry and field-gun fire +growled to and fro under the heavy smoke round +and about and out in front of the embrasures, +which had never ceased their regular discharge +over the heads of the fort's defenders and immediate +assailants.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Harry noted a slackening of the +battle; it gradually but soon dropped away to +nothing, and now no sound of small-arms in any +direction was heard in the lengthening intervals +of reports from the siege pieces far and near.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> +<p>"And so that's the end of it," said Kennedy. +"Sure it was hot work for a while! Faix, I +thought onct the doughboys was nappin' too +long, and ould Hell would be bullyin' away at +ourselves. Now, thin, can we have a bite in +paice? I'll shtart wid a few sausages, Brownie, +and you may send in the shpring chickens wid +some oyshters the second coorse. No! Oh, +by the powers, 'tis too mane to lose a breakfast +like that!" and Corporal Kennedy shook his +fist at the group of buglers calling the regiment +to parade.</p> + +<p>In ten minutes the Fifty-third had formed in +column of companies. "Old Jimmy," their +Colonel, had galloped down at them and once +along their front; then the command, forming +fours from the right front, moved off at a trot +through the mud in long procession.</p> + +<p>"Didn't I know it?" said Kennedy; "it's +escortin' the doughboys' prisoners, that's all +we're good for this outrageous day. Oh, wirra, +wirrasthru! Police duty! and this calls itself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +a cavalry rigiment. Mounted Police duty,—escortin' +doughboys' prisoners! Faix, I might +as well be wid Her Majesty's dhragoons, +thramplin' down the flesh and blood of me +in poor ould Oireland. Begor, Harry, me +bhy, it's a mane job to be setting you at, +and this the first day ye're mounted to save +the Union!"</p> + +<p>"Stop coddin' the boy, Corporal," said Bader, +angrily. "You can't think how an American +boy feels about this war."</p> + +<p>"An Amerikin!—an Amerikin, is it? Let +me insthruct ye thin, Misther Bader, that I'm +as good an Amerikin as the next man. Och, be +jabers, me that's been in the color you see ever +since the Prisident first called for men! It +was for a three months' dance he axed us first. +Me, that's re-enlishted twice, don't know the +feelin's of an Amerikin! What am I here for? +Not poverty! sure I'd enough of that before +ever I seen Ameriky! What am I wallopin' +through the mud for this mornin'?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> +<p>"It's your trade, Kennedy," said Bader, with +disgust.</p> + +<p>"Be damned to you, man!" said the corporal, +sternly. "When I touched fut in New +York, didn't I swear that I'd never dhraw +swoord more, barrin' it was agin the ould red +tyrant and oprissor of me counthry? Wasn't I +glad to be dhrivin' me own hack next year in +Philamedink like a gintleman? Oh, the paice +and the indipindence of it! But what cud I do +when the counthry that tuk me and was good to +me wanted an ould dhragoon? An Amerikin, +ye say! Faith, the heart of me is Amerikin, if +I'm a bog throtter by the tongue. Mind that +now, me bould man!"</p> + +<p>Harry heard without heeding as the horses +spattered on. Still wavered in his ears the +sounds of the dawn; still he saw the ghostlike +forms of Americans in gray tumbling back from +their rush against the sacred flag that had +drooped so sadly over the smoke; and still, far +away beyond all this puddled and cumbered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +ground the dreamy boy saw millions of white +American faces, all haggard for news of the +armies—some looking South, some North, yearning +for the Peace that had so long ago been +the boon of the Nation.</p> + +<p>Now the regiment was upon the red clay of +the dead fight, and brought to halt in open +columns. After a little they moved off again in +fours, and, dropping into single file, surrounded +some thousands of disarmed men, the remnant +of the desperate brigades that Lee had flung +through the night across three lines of breastworks +at the great fort they had so nearly +stormed. Poor drenched, shivering Johnnies! +there they stood, not a few of them in blue +overcoats, but mostly in butternut, generally +tattered; some barefoot, some with feet bound +in ragged sections of blanket, many with toes +and skin showing through crazy boots lashed +on with strips of cotton or with cord; many +stoutly on foot, streaming blood from head +wounds.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> +<p>Some lay groaning in the mud, while their +comrades helped Union surgeons to bind or +amputate. Here and there groups huddled +together in earnest talk, or listened to comrades +gesticulating and storming as they recounted +incidents of the long charge. But far the +greater number faced outward, at gaze upon the +cavalry guard, and, silently munching thick flat +cakes of corn-bread, stared into the faces of the +horsemen. Harry Wallbridge, brought to the +halt, faced half-round in the saddle, and looked +with quick beatings of pity far and wide over +the disorderly crowd of weather-worn men.</p> + +<p>"It's a Louisiana brigade," said Bader.</p> + +<p>"Fifty-three, P. V. V. C.," spoke a prisoner, +as if in reply, reading the letters about the little +crossed brass sabres on the Union hats. "Say, +you men from Pennsylvany?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Johnny; we come down to wake up +Dixie."</p> + +<p>"I reckon we got the start at wakin' you this +mornin'," drawled the Southerner. "But say,—there's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +one of our boys lyin' dyin' over yonder; +his folks lives in Pennsylvany. Mebbe some of +you 'ud know 'em."</p> + +<p>"What's his name?" asked Bader.</p> + +<p>"Wallbridge—Johnny Wallbridge."</p> + +<p>"Why, Harry—hold on!—you ain't the +only Wallbridges there is. What's up?" cried +Bader, as the boy half reeled, half clambered +from his saddle.</p> + +<p>"Hold on, Harry!" cried Corporal Kennedy.</p> + +<p>"Halt there, Wallbridge!" shouted Sergeant +Gravely.</p> + +<p>"Stop that man!" roared Lieutenant Bradley.</p> + +<p>But, calling, "He's my brother!" Harry, +catching up his sabre as he ran, followed the +Southerner, who had instantly divined the situation. +The forlorn prisoners made ready way +for them, and closing in behind, stretched in +solid array about the scene.</p> + +<p>"It's not Jack," said the boy; but something +in the look of the dying man drew him on to +kneel in the mud. "Is it <i>you</i>, Jack? Oh, now<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +I know you! Jack, I'm Harry! don't you +know me? I'm Harry—your brother Harry."</p> + +<p>The Southern soldier stared rigidly at the boy, +seeming to grow paler with the recollections that +he struggled for.</p> + +<p>"<i>What's</i> your name?" he asked very faintly.</p> + +<p>"Harry Wallbridge—I'm your brother."</p> + +<p>"Harry Wallbridge! Why, I'm <i>John</i> Wallbridge. +Did you say Harry? <i>Not Harry!</i>" +he shrieked hoarsely. "No; Harry's only a +little fellow!" He paused, and looked meditatively +into the boy's eyes. "It's nearly five +years I've been gone,—he was near twelve +then. Boys," lifting his head painfully and casting +his look slowly round upon his comrades, "I +know him by the eyes; yes, he's my brother! +Let me speak to him alone—stand back a +bit," and at once the men pushed backward +into the form of a wide circle.</p> + +<p>"Put down your head, Harry. Kiss me! +Kiss me again!—how's mother? Ah, I was +afraid she might be dead—don't tell her I'm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> +dead, Harry." He groaned with the pain of +the groin wound. "Closer, Harry; I've got to +tell you this first—maybe it's all I've time to +tell. Say, Harry,"—he began to gasp,—"they +didn't ought to have killed me, the Union +soldiers didn't. I never fired—high enough—all +these years. They drafted me, Harry—tell +mother that—down in New Orleans—and +I—couldn't get away. Ai—ai! how it +hurts! I must die soon 's I can tell you. I +wanted to come home—and help father—how's +poor father, Harry? Doing well now? +Oh. I'm glad of that—and the baby? there's +a new baby! Ah, yes, I'll never see it, Harry."</p> + +<p>His eyes closed, the pain seemed to leave +him, and he lay almost smiling happily as his +brother's tears fell on his muddy and blood-clotted +face. As if from a trance his eyes +opened, and he spoke anxiously but calmly.</p> + +<p>"You'll be sure to tell them I was drafted—conscripted, +you understand. And I never +fired at any of us—of you—tell all the boys<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +<i>that</i>." Again the flame of life went down, and +again flickered up in pain.</p> + +<p>"Harry—you'll stay by father—and help +him, won't you? This cruel war—is almost +over. Don't cry. Kiss me. Say—do you +remember—the old times we had—fishing? +Kiss me again, Harry—brother in blue—you're +on—<i>my</i> side. Oh I wish—I had +time—to tell you. Come close—put your +arms around—my neck—it's old times—again." +And now the wound tortured him for +a while beyond speech. "You're with me, +aren't you, Harry?</p> + +<p>"Well, there's this," he gasped on, "about +my chums—they've been as good and kind—marching, +us, all wet and cold together—and it +wasn't their fault. If they had known—how I +wanted—to be shot—for the Union! It was so +hard—to be—on the wrong side! But—"</p> + +<p>He lifted his head and stared wildly at his +brother, screamed rapidly, as if summoning all +his life for the effort to explain, "Drafted,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> +<i>drafted, drafted</i>—Harry, tell mother and +father <i>that</i>. I was <i>drafted</i>. O God, O God, +what suffering! Both sides—I was on both +sides all the time. I loved them all, North +and South, all,—but the Union most. O God, +it was so hard!"</p> + +<p>His head fell back, his eyes closed, and +Harry thought it was the end. But once more +Jack opened his blue eyes, and slowly said in a +steady, clear, anxious voice, "Mind you tell +them I never fired high enough!" Then he lay +still in Harry's arms, breathing fainter and +fainter till no motion was on his lips, nor in his +heart, nor any tremor in the hands that lay in +the hand of his brother in blue.</p> + +<p>"Come, Harry," said Bader, stooping tenderly +to the boy, "the order is to march. He's +past helping now. It's no use; you must leave +him here to God. Come, boy, the head of +the column is moving already."</p> + +<p>Mounting his horse, Harry looked across to +Jack's form. For the first time in two years<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> +the famous Louisiana brigade trudged on without +their unwilling comrade. There he lay, +alone, in the Union lines, under the rain, his +marching done, a figure of eternal peace; while +Harry, looking backward till he could no longer +distinguish his brother from the clay of the +field, rode dumbly on and on beside the downcast +procession of men in gray.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_TURKEY_APIECE" id="A_TURKEY_APIECE"></a>A TURKEY APIECE.</h2> + + +<p>Not long ago I was searching files of New +York papers for 1864, when my eye +caught the headline, "Thanksgiving Dinner +for the Army." I had shared that feast. The +words brought me a vision of a cavalry brigade +in winter quarters before Petersburg; of +the three-miles-distant and dim steeples of the +besieged city; of rows and rows of canvas-covered +huts sheltering the infantry corps that +stretched interminably away toward the Army +of the James. I fancied I could hear again the +great guns of "Fort Hell" infrequently punctuating +the far-away picket-firing.</p> + +<p>Rain, rain, and rain! How it fell on red +Virginia that November of '64! How it wore +away alertness! The infantry-men—whom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +we used to call "doughboys," for there was +always a pretended feud between the riders and +the trudgers—often seemed going to sleep +in the night in their rain-filled holes far beyond +the breastworks, each with its little mound of +earth thrown up toward the beleaguered town. +Their night-firing would slacken almost to +cessation for many minutes together. But +after the b-o-o-oom of a great gun it became +brisker usually; often so much so as to suggest +that some of Lee's ragged brigades, their march +silenced by the rain, had pierced our fore-front +again, and were "gobbling up" our boys on +picket, and flinging up new rifle-pits on the +acres reclaimed for a night and a day for the +tottering Confederacy.</p> + +<p>Sometimes the <i>crack-a-rac-a-rack</i> would die +down to a slow fire of dropping shots, and the +forts seemed sleeping; and patter, patter, patter +on the veteran canvas we heard the rain, rain, +rain, not unlike the roll of steady musketry very +far away.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> +<p>I think I sit again beside Charley Wilson, my +sick "buddy," and hear his uneven breathing +through all the stamping of the rows of wet +horses on their corduroy floor roofed with leaky +pine brush.</p> + +<p>That <i>squ-ush, squ-ush</i> is the sound of the +stable-guard's boots as he paces slowly through +the mud, to and fro, with the rain rattling on +his glazed poncho and streaming corded hat. +Sometimes he stops to listen to a frantic +brawling of the wagon-train mules, sometimes +to the reviving picket-firing. It crackles up to +animation for causes that we can but guess; +then dies down, never to silence, but warns, +warns, as the distant glow of the sky above a +volcano warns of the huge waiting forces that +give it forth.</p> + +<p>I think I hear Barney Donahoe pulling our +latch-string that November night when we first +heard of the great Thanksgiving dinner that +was being collected in New York for the +army.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> +<p>"Byes, did yez hear phwat Sergeant Cunningham +was tellin' av the Thanksgivin' turkeys +that's comin'?"</p> + +<p>"Come in out of the rain, Barney," says +Charley, feebly.</p> + +<p>"Faith, I wish I dar', but it's meself is on +shtable-guard. Bedad, it's a rale fire ye've +got. Divil a better has ould Jimmy himself +(our colonel). Ye've heard tell of the turkeys, +then, and the pois?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Bully for the folks at home!" says +Charley. "The notion of turkey next Thursday +has done me good already. I was thinking I'd +go to hospital to-morrow, but now I guess I +won't."</p> + +<p>"Hoshpital! Kape clear av the hoshpital, +Char-les, dear. Sure, they'd cut a man's leg +off behind the ears av him for to cure him av +indigestion."</p> + +<p>"Is it going to rain all night, Barney?"</p> + +<p>"It is, bad 'cess to it; and to-morrow and +the day afther, I'm thinkin'. The blackness<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +av night is outside; be jabers! you could cut it +like turf with a shpade! If it wasn't for the +ould fort flamin' out wanst in a whoile, I'd be +thinkin' I'd never an oi in my head, barrin' the +fires in the tints far an' near gives a bit of +dimness to the dark. Phwat time is it?"</p> + +<p>"Quarter to twelve, Barney."</p> + +<p>"Troth, then, the relief will be soon coming. +I must be thramping the mud av Virginia to +save the Union. Good-night, byes. I come to +give yez the good word. Kape your heart light +an' aisy, Char-les, dear. D'ye moind the +turkeys and the pois? Faith, it's meself that +has the taste for thim dainties!"</p> + +<p>"I don't believe I'll be able to eat a mite of +the Thanksgiving," says Charley, as we hear +Barney <i>squ-ush</i> away; "but just to see the +brown on a real old brown home turkey will +do me a heap of good."</p> + +<p>"You'll be all right by Thursday, Charley, I +guess; won't you? It's only Sunday night +now."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> +<p>Of course I cannot remember the very words +of that talk in the night, so many years ago. +But the coming of Barney I recollect well, and +the general drift of what was said.</p> + +<p>Charley turned on his bed of hay-covered +poles, and I put my hand under his gray blanket +to feel if his legs were well covered by the long +overcoat he lay in. Then I tucked the blanket +well in about his feet and shoulders, pulled his +poncho again to its full length over him, and +sat on a cracker-box looking at our fire for a +long time, while the rain spattered through the +canvas in spray.</p> + +<p>My "buddy" Charley, the most popular boy +of Company I, was of my own age,—seventeen,—though +the rolls gave us a year more each, by +way of compliance with the law of enlistment. +From a Pennsylvania farm in the hills he came +forth to the field early in that black fall of '64, +strong, tall, and merry, fit to ride for the nation's +life,—a mighty wielder of an axe, "bold, cautious, +true, and my loving comrade."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> +<p>We were "the kids" to Company I. To +"buddy" with Charley I gave up my share of +the hut I had helped to build as old Bader's +"pard." Then the "kids" set about the construction +of a new residence, which stood +farther from the parade ground than any hut +in the row except the big cabin of "old +Brownie," the "greasy cook," who called us +to "bean—oh!" with so resonant a shout, +and majestically served out our rations of pork, +"salt horse," coffee long-boiled and sickeningly +sweet, hardtack, and the daily loaf of a singularly +despondent-looking bread.</p> + +<p>My "buddy" and I slept on opposite sides +of our winter residence. The bedsteads were +made of poles laid lengthwise and lifted about +two feet from the ground. These were covered +thinly with hay from the bales that were regularly +delivered for horse-fodder. There was a +space of about two feet between bedsteads, +and under them we kept our saddles and saddlecloths.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> +<p>Our floor was of earth, with a few flour-barrel +staves and cracker-box sides laid down +for rugs. We had each an easy-chair in the +form of a cracker-box, besides a stout soap-box +for guests. Our carbines and sabres hung +crossed on pegs over the mantel-piece, above +our Bibles and the precious daguerreotypes of +the dear folks at home. When we happened to +have enough wood for a bright fire, we felt +much snugger than you might suppose.</p> + +<p>Before ever that dark November began, +Charley had been suffering from one of those +wasting diseases that so often clung to and +carried off the strongest men of both armies. +Sharing the soldiers' inveterate prejudice against +hospitals attended by young doctors, who, the +men believed, were addicted to much surgery for +the sake of practice, my poor "buddy" strove +to do his regular duties. He paraded with the +sick before the regimental doctor as seldom as +possible. He was favored by the sergeants and +helped in every way by the men, and so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +continued to stay with the company at that +wet season when drill and parades were +impracticable.</p> + +<p>The idea of a Thanksgiving dinner for half a +million men by sea and land fascinated Charley's +imagination, and cheered him mightily. But +I could not see that his strength increased, as +he often alleged.</p> + +<p>"Ned, you bet I'll be on hand when them +turkeys are served out," he would say. "You +won't need to carry my Thanksgiving dinner up +from Brownie's. Say, ain't it bully for the folks +at home to be giving us a Thanksgiving like +this? Turkeys, sausages, mince-pies! They +say there's going to be apples and celery for +all hands!"</p> + +<p>"S'pose you'll be able to eat, Charley?"</p> + +<p>"Able! Of course I'll be able! I'll be just +as spry as you be on Thanksgiving. See if I +don't carry my own turkey all right. Yes, by +gum, if it weighs twenty pounds!"</p> + +<p>"There won't be a turkey apiece."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> +<p>"No, eh? Well, that's what I figure on. +Half a turkey, anyhow. Got to be; besides +chickens, hams, sausages, and all that kind of +fixin's. You heard what Bill Sylvester's girl +wrote from Philamadink-a-daisy-oh? No, eh? +Well, he come in a-purpose to read me the +letter. Says there's going to be three or four +hundred thousand turkeys, besides them fixin's! +Sherman's boys can't get any; they're marched +too far away, out of reach. The Shenandoah boys'll +get some, and Butler's crowd, and us chaps, +and the blockading squadrons. Bill's girl says +so. We'll get the whole lot between us. Four +hundred thousand turkeys! Of course there'll +be a turkey apiece; there's got to be, if there's +any sense in arithmetic. Oh, I'll be choosin' +between breast-meat and hind-legs on Thanksgiving,—you +bet your sweet life on that!"</p> + +<p>This expectation that there would be a turkey +a-piece was not shared by Company I; but no +one denied it in Charley's hearing. The boy +held it as sick people often do fantastic notions,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +and all fell into the humor of strengthening the +reasoning on which he went.</p> + +<p>It was clear that no appetite for turkey +moved my poor "buddy," but that his brain +was busy with the "whole-turkey-a-piece" idea +as one significant of the immense liberality of +the folks at home, and their absorbing interest +in the army.</p> + +<p>"Where's there any nation that ever was +that would get to work and fix up four hundred +thousand turkeys for the boys?" he often +remarked, with ecstatic patriotism.</p> + +<p>I have often wondered why "Bill Sylvester's +girl" gave that flourishing account of the preparations +for our Thanksgiving dinner. It was +only on searching the newspaper files recently +that I surmised her sources of information. +Newspapers seldom reached our regiment until +they were several weeks old, and then they were +not much read, at least by me. Now I know +how enthusiastic the papers of November, '64, +were on the great feast for the army.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> +<p>For instance, on the morning of that Thanksgiving +day, the 24th of November, the New +York Tribune said editorially:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Forty thousand turkeys, eighty thousand +turkeys, one hundred and sixty thousand turkeys, +nobody knows how many turkeys have been sent +to our soldiers. Such masses of breast-meat and +such mountains of stuffing; drumsticks enough to +fit out three or four Grand Armies, a perfect promontory +of pope's noses, a mighty aggregate of +wings. The gifts of their lordships to the supper +which Grangousier spread to welcome Gargantua +were nothing to those which our good people at +home send to their friends in the field; and no +doubt every soldier, if his dinner does not set him +thinking too intently of that home, will prove himself +a valiant trencherman."</p></div> + +<p>Across the vast encampment before Petersburg +a biting wind blew that Thanksgiving day. +It came through every cranny of our hut; it +bellied the canvas on one side and tightened it +on the other; it pressed flat down the smoke +from a hundred thousand mud chimneys, and +swept away so quickly the little coals which fell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +on the canvas that they had not time to burn +through.</p> + +<p>When I went out towards noon, for perhaps +the twentieth time that day, to learn whether +our commissary wagons had returned from +City Point with the turkeys, the muddy parade +ground was dotted with groups of shivering +men, all looking anxiously for the feast's arrival. +Officers frequently came out, to exchange a +few cheery words with their men, from the tall, +close hedge of withering pines stuck on end +that enclosed the officers' quarters on the +opposite side of the parade ground.</p> + +<p>No turkeys at twelve o'clock! None at one! +Two, three, four, five o'clock passed by, and +still nothing had been heard of our absent +wagons. Charley was too weak to get out +that day, but he cheerfully scouted the idea +that a turkey for each man would not arrive +sooner or later.</p> + +<p>The rest of us dined and supped on "commissary." +It was not good commissary either,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> +for Brownie, the "greasy cook," had gone on +leave to visit a "doughboy" cousin of the Sixth +Corps.</p> + +<p>"You'll have turkey for dinner, boys," he +had said, on serving out breakfast. "If you're +wanting coffee, Tom can make it." Thus we +had to dine and sup on the amateur productions +of the cook's mate.</p> + +<p>A multitude of woful rumors concerning +the absent turkeys flew round that evening. The +"Johnnies," we heard, had raided round the +army, and captured the fowls! Butler's colored +troops had got all the turkeys, and had +been feeding on fowl for two days! The +officers had "gobbled" the whole consignment +for their own use! The whole story of the +Thanksgiving dinner was a newspaper hoax! +Nothing was too incredible for men so bitterly +disappointed.</p> + +<p>Brownie returned before "lights out" sounded, +and reported facetiously that the "doughboys" +he had visited were feeding full of turkey and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +all manner of fixings. There were so many +wagons waiting at City Point that the roads +round there were blocked for miles. We could +not fail to get our turkeys to-morrow. With +this expectation we went, pretty happy, to +bed.</p> + +<p>"There'll be a turkey apiece, you'll see, +Ned," said Charley, in a confident, weak voice, as +I turned in. "We'll all have a bully Thanksgiving +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>The morrow broke as bleak as the preceding +day, and without a sign of turkey for our +brigade. But about twelve o'clock a great +shouting came from the parade ground.</p> + +<p>"The turkeys have come!" cried Charley, +trying to rise. "Never mind picking out a +big one for me; any one will do. I don't +believe I can eat a bite, but I want to see it. +My! ain't it kind of the folks at home!"</p> + +<p>I ran out and found his surmise as to the +return of the wagons correct. They were +filing into the enclosure around the quartermaster's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +tent. Nothing but an order that the +men should keep to company quarters prevented +the whole regiment helping to unload the +delicacies of the season.</p> + +<p>Soon foraging parties went from each company +to the quartermaster's enclosure. Company +I sent six men. They returned, grinning, in +about half an hour, with one box on one man's +shoulders.</p> + +<p>It was carried to Sergeant Cunningham's +cabin, the nearest to the parade ground, the +most distant from that of "the kids," in which +Charley lay waiting. We crowded round the +hut with some sinking of enthusiasm. There +was no cover on the box except a bit of cotton +in which some of the consignment had probably +been wrapped. Brownie whisked this +off, and those nearest Cunningham's door saw +disclosed—two small turkeys, a chicken, four +rather disorganized pies, two handsome bologna +sausages, and six very red apples.</p> + +<p>We were nearly seventy men. The comical<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +side of the case struck the boys instantly. +Their disappointment was so extreme as to be +absurd. There might be two ounces of feast +to each, if the whole were equally shared.</p> + +<p>All hands laughed; not a man swore. The +idea of an equal distribution seemed to have no +place in that company. One proposed that all +should toss up for the lot. Another suggested +drawing lots; a third that we should set the +Thanksgiving dinner at one end of the parade +ground and run a race for it, "grab who can."</p> + +<p>At this Barney Donahoe spoke up.</p> + +<p>"Begorra, yez can race for wan turkey av +yez loike. But the other wan is goin' to +Char-les Wilson!"</p> + +<p>There was not a dissenting voice. Charley +was altogether the most popular member of +Company I, and every man knew how he had +clung to the turkey apiece idea.</p> + +<p>"Never let on a word," said Sergeant Cunningham. +"He'll think there's a turkey for +every man!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> +<p>The biggest bird, the least demoralized pie, a +bologna sausage, and the whole six apples were +placed in the cloth that had covered the box. +I was told to carry the display to my poor +"buddy."</p> + +<p>As I marched down the row of tents a +tremendous yelling arose from the crowd round +Cunningham's tent. I turned to look behind. +Some man with a riotous impulse had seized +the box and flung its contents in the air over +the thickest of the crowd. Next moment the +turkey was seized by half a dozen hands. As +many more helped to tear it to pieces. Barney +Donahoe ran past me with a leg, and two +laughing men after him. Those who secured +larger portions took a bite as quickly as +possible, and yielded the rest to clutching +hands. The bologna sausage was shared in +like fashion, but I never heard of any one who +got a taste of the pies.</p> + +<p>"Here's your turkey, Charley," said I, +entering with my burden.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> +<p>"Where's yours, Ned?"</p> + +<p>"I've got my turkey all right enough at +Cunningham's tent."</p> + +<p>"Didn't I tell you there'd be a turkey apiece?" +he cried gleefully, as I unrolled the +lot. "And sausages, apples, a whole pie—oh, +<i>say</i>, ain't they bully folks up home!"</p> + +<p>"They are," said I. "I believe we'd have +had a bigger Thanksgiving yet if it wasn't such +a trouble getting it distributed."</p> + +<p>"You'd better believe it! They'd do anything +in the world for the army," he said, lying +back.</p> + +<p>"Can't you eat a bite, buddy?"</p> + +<p>"No; I'm not a mite hungry. But I'll look +at it. It won't spoil before to-morrow. Then +you can share it all out among the boys."</p> + +<p>Looking at the turkey, the sick lad fell +asleep. Barney Donahoe softly opened our +door, stooped his head under the lintel, and +gazed a few moments at the quiet face turned +to the Thanksgiving turkey. Man after man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> +followed to gaze on the company's favorite, and +on the fowl which, they knew, tangibly symbolized +to him the immense love of the nation for +the flower of its manhood in the field. Indeed, +the people had forwarded an enormous Thanksgiving +feast; but it was impossible to distribute +it evenly, and we were one of the regiments +that came short.</p> + +<p>Grotesque, that scene was? Group after +group of hungry, dirty soldiers, gazing solemnly, +lovingly, at a lone brown turkey and a pallid +sleeping boy! Yes, very grotesque. But +Charley had his Thanksgiving dinner, and the +men of Company I, perhaps, enjoyed a profounder +satisfaction than if they had feasted +more materially.</p> + +<p>I never saw Charley after that Thanksgiving +day. Before the afternoon was half gone the +doctor sent an ambulance for him, and insisted +that he should go to City Point. By Christmas +his wasted body had lain for three weeks in the +red Virginia soil.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="GRANDPAPAS_WOLF_STORY" id="GRANDPAPAS_WOLF_STORY"></a>GRANDPAPA'S WOLF STORY.</h2> + + +<p>"Tell us a story, grandpapa."</p> + +<p>"One that will last all the evening, +chickens?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, grandpapa, darling," said Jenny, while +Jimmy clapped hands.</p> + +<p>"What about?" said the old lumber king.</p> + +<p>"About when you were a boy."</p> + +<p>"When I was a boy," said the old gentleman, +taking Jenny on his knee and putting his arm +round Jimmy, "the boys and girls were as fond +of stories as they are now. Once when I was a +boy I said to my grandfather, 'Tell me a story, +grandpa,' and he replied, 'When I was a boy the +boys were as fond of stories as they are now; for +once when I was a boy I said to my grandfather, +"Tell me a story, grandpa,—"'".</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p> +<p>"Why, it seems to go on just the same story, +grandpapa," said Jenny.</p> + +<p>"That's not the end of it, Jenny, dear," said +grandpapa.</p> + +<p>"No-o?" said Jenny, dubiously.</p> + +<p>Jimmy said nothing. He lived with his grandfather, +and knew his ways. Jenny came on visits +only, and was not well enough acquainted with +the old gentleman to know that he would soon +tire of the old joke, and reward patient children +by a good story.</p> + +<p>"Shall I go on with the story, Jenny?" said +grandpapa.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, grandpapa!"</p> + +<p>"Well, then, when <i>that</i> grandpa was a boy, he +said to <i>his</i> grandfather, 'Tell me a story, grandpapa,' +and his grandfather replied—"</p> + +<p>Jenny soon listened with a demure smile of +attention.</p> + +<p>"Do you like this story, dear?" said grandpapa, +after pursuing the repetition for some +minutes longer.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> +<p>"I shall, grandpapa, darling. It must be very +good when you come to the grandfather that told +it. I like to think of all my grandfathers, and +great, great, great, greater, greatest, great, great-grandpapas +all telling the same story."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's a genuine family story, Jenny, and +you're a little witch." The old gentleman kissed +her. "Well, where was I? Oh, now I remember! +And <i>that</i> grandpapa said to his grandfather, +'Tell me a story, grandpapa,' and his +grandpapa replied, 'When I was a young fellow—'"</p> + +<p>"Now it's beginning!" cried Jimmy, clapping +his hands, and shifting to an easier attitude +by the old man's easy-chair.</p> + +<p>Grandpapa looked comically at Jimmy, and +said, "His grandfather replied, 'When I was a +young fellow—'"</p> + +<p>The faces of the children became woful +again.</p> + +<p>"'One rainy day I took my revolver—'"</p> + +<p>"Revolver! Grandpapa!" cried Jenny.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> +<p>"Yes, dear."</p> + +<p>"An American revolver, grandpapa?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, dear."</p> + +<p>"And did he tell the story in English?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, pet."</p> + +<p>"But, grandpapa, <i>darling</i>, that grandpapa +was seventy-three grandpapas back!"</p> + +<p>"About that, my dear."</p> + +<p>"I kept count, grandpapa."</p> + +<p>"And don't you like good old-fashioned +stories, Jenny?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, grandpapa, but <i>revolvers</i>—and +<i>Americans</i>—and the <i>English</i> language! Why, +it was more than twenty-two hundred years ago, +grandpapa, darling!"</p> + +<p>"Ha! ha! You never thought of that, +Jimmy! Oh, you've been at school, Miss +Bright-eyes! Kiss me, you little rogue. Now +listen!</p> + +<p>"When <i>I</i> was a young fellow—"</p> + +<p>"You yourself, grandpapa?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Jenny."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> +<p>"I'm so glad it was you yourself! I like my +<i>own</i> grandpapa's stories best of all."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, my dear. After that I must be +<i>very</i> entertaining. Yes, I'll tell my best story +of all—and Jimmy has never heard it. Well, +when I was a young fellow of seventeen I was +clerk in a lumber shanty on the Sheboiobonzhe-gunpashageshickawigamog +River."</p> + +<p>"How did you <i>ever</i> learn that name, grandpapa, +darling?" cried Jenny.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I could learn things in those days. +Remembering it is the difficulty, dear—see if +it isn't. I'll give you a nice new ten-dollar bill +if you tell me that name to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Jenny bent her brows and tried so hard to +recall the syllables that she almost lost part of +the story. Grandpapa went steadily on:—</p> + +<p>"One day in February, when it was too rainy +for the men to work, and just rainy enough to +go deer-shooting if you hadn't had fresh meat +for five months, I took to the woods with my +gun, revolver, hatchet, and dinner. All the fore<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> +part of the day I failed to get a shot, though I +saw many deer on the hemlock ridges of Sheboi—that's +the way it begins, Jenny, and Sheboi +we called it.</p> + +<p>"But late in the afternoon I killed a buck. +I cut off a haunch, lifted the carcass into the +low boughs of a spruce, and started for camp, +six miles away, across snowy hills and frozen +lakes. The snow-shoeing was heavy, and I +feared I should not get in before dark. The +Sheboi country was infested with wolves—"</p> + +<p>"Bully! It's a wolf story!" said Jimmy. +Jenny shuddered with delight.</p> + +<p>"As I went along you may be sure I never +thought my grandchildren would be pleased to +have me in danger of being eaten up by wolves."</p> + +<p>Jenny looked shocked at the imputation. +Grandpapa watched her with twinkling eyes. +When she saw he was joking, she cried: "But +you weren't eaten, grandpapa. You were too +brave."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I hadn't thought of that. Perhaps I'd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> +better not tell the story. You'll have a worse +opinion of my courage, my dear."</p> + +<p>"Of course you <i>had</i> to run from <i>wolves</i>, +grandpapa!" said the little girl.</p> + +<p>"I'll bet grandpapa didn't run then, miss," +said Jimmy. "I'll bet he shot them with his +gun."</p> + +<p>"He couldn't—could you, grandpapa? +There were too many. Of course grandpapa +<i>had</i> to run. That wasn't being cowardly. It +was just—just—<i>running</i>."</p> + +<p>"No, Jenny, I didn't run a yard."</p> + +<p>"Didn't I tell you?" cried Jimmy. "Grandpapa +shot them with his gun."</p> + +<p>"You're mistaken, Jimmy."</p> + +<p>"Then you must—No, for you're here—you +weren't eaten up?" said wondering Jenny.</p> + +<p>"No, dear, I wasn't eaten up."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know! The wolves didn't come!" +cried Jimmy, who remembered one of his grandpapa's +stories as having ended in that unhappy +way.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p> +<p>"Oh, but they did, Jimmy!"</p> + +<p>"Why, grandpapa, what <i>did</i> you do?"</p> + +<p>"I climbed into a hollow tree."</p> + +<p>"<i>Of course!</i>" said both children.</p> + +<p>"Now I'm going to tell you a true wolf story, +and that's what few grandpapas can do out of +their own experience.</p> + +<p>"I was resting on the shore of a lake, with +my snow-shoes off to ease my sore toes, when I +saw a pack of wolves trotting lazily toward me +on the snow that covered the ice. I was sure +they had not seen me. Right at my elbow was +a big hollow pine. It had an opening down to +the ground, a good deal like the door of a +sentry-box.</p> + +<p>"There was a smaller opening about thirty +feet higher up. I had looked up and seen this +before I saw the wolves. Then I rose, stood for +a moment in the hollow, and climbed up by my +feet, knees, hands, and elbows till I thought my +feet were well above the top of the opening. +Dead wood and dust fell as I ascended, but I +hoped the wolves had not heard me."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> +<p>"Did they, grandpapa?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not at first, Jenny. But maybe +they got a scent of the deer-meat I was carrying. +At any rate, they were soon snapping and +snarling over it and my snow-shoes. <i>Gobble-de-gobble, +yip, yap, snap, growl, snarl, gobble</i>—the +meat was all gone in a moment, like little +Red Riding Hood."</p> + +<p>"Why, grandpapa! The wolf didn't eat +little Red Riding Hood. The boy came in +time—don't you remember?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you never read <i>my</i> Red Riding +Hood, Jenny," said the old gentleman, laughing. +"At any rate, the wolves lunched at my +expense; yet I hoped they wouldn't be polite +enough to look round for their host. But they +did inquire for me—not very politely, I +must say. They seemed in bad humor—perhaps +there hadn't been enough lunch to go +round."</p> + +<p>"The greedy things! A whole haunch of +venison!" cried Jenny.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> +<p>"Ah, but I had provided no currant jelly with +it, and of course they were vexed. If you ever +give a dinner-party to wolves, don't forget the +currant jelly, Jenny. How they yelled for it—<i>Cur-r-r-rant-jell-yell-yell-elly-yell!</i> +That's the +way they went.</p> + +<p>"And they also said, <i>Yow—yow—there's—yow—no—desser-r-rt—either—yow—yow!</i> +Perhaps they wanted me to explain. +At any rate, they put their heads into the opening—how +many at once I don't know, for I +could not see down; and then they screamed +for me. It was an uncomfortably close scream, +chickens. My feet must have been nearer +them than I thought, for one fellow's nose +touched my moccasin as he jumped."</p> + +<p>"O grandpapa! If he had caught your +foot!"</p> + +<p>"But he didn't, Jenny, dear. He caught +something worse. When he tumbled back he +must have fallen on the other fellows, for there +was a great snapping and snarling and yelping +all at once.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p> +<p>"Meantime I tried to go up out of reach. +It was easy enough; but with every fresh hold +I took with shoulders, elbows, hands, and feet, +the dead old wood crumbled and broke away, +so that thick dust filled the hollow tree.</p> + +<p>"I was afraid I should be suffocated. But +up I worked till at last I got to the upper hole +and stuck out my head for fresh air. There I +was, pretty comfortable for a little while, and +I easily supported my weight by bending my +back, thrusting with my feet, and holding on +the edge of the hole by my hands.</p> + +<p>"After getting breath I gave my attention to +the wolves. They did not catch sight of me for +a few moments. Some stood looking much +interested at the lower opening, as terriers do +at the hole where a rat has disappeared.</p> + +<p>"Dust still came from the hole to the open +air. Some wolves sneezed; others sat and +squealed with annoyance, as Bruno does when +you close the door on him at dinner-time. +They were disgusted at my concealment. Of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +course you have a pretty good idea of what +they said, Jenny."</p> + +<p>"No, grandpapa. The horrid, cruel things! +What did they say?"</p> + +<p>"Well, of course wolf talk is rude, even savage, +and dreadfully profane. As near as I could +make out, one fellow screamed, 'Shame, boy, +taking an unfair advantage of poor starving +wolves!' It seemed as if another fellow yelled, +'You young coward!' A third cried, 'Oh, yes, +you think you're safe, do you?' A fourth, +'<i>Yow—yow</i>—but we can wait till you come +down!'"</p> + +<p>Grandpapa mimicked the wolfish voices and +looks so effectively that Jenny was rather +alarmed.</p> + +<p>"One old fellow seemed to suggest that they +should go away and look for more venison for +supper, while he kept watch on me. At that +there was a general howl of derision. They +seemed to me to be telling the old fellow that +they were just as fond of boy as he, and that +they understood his little game.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> +<p>"The old chap evidently tried to explain, +but they grinned with all their teeth as he +turned from one to another. You must not +suppose, chickens, that wolves have no sense of +humor. Yet, poor things—"</p> + +<p>"Poor things! Why, grandpapa!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Jenny; so lean and hungry, you know. +Then one of them suddenly caught sight of my +head, and didn't he yell! 'There he is—look +up the tree!' cried Mr. Wolf.</p> + +<p>"For a few moments they were silent. Then +they sprang all at once, absurdly anxious to get +nearer to me, twenty-five feet or so above their +reach. On falling, they tumbled into several +heaps of mouths and legs and tails. After +scuffling and separating, they gazed up at me +with silent longing. I should have been very +popular for a few minutes had I gone down."</p> + +<p>Jenny shuddered, and then nestled closer to +her grandfather.</p> + +<p>"Don't be afraid, Jenny. They didn't eat +me—not that time. After a few moments'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +staring I became very impolite. 'Boo-ooh!' +said I. 'Yah-ha-ha!' said I. 'You be shot!' +I cried. They resented it. Even wolves love +to be gently addressed.</p> + +<p>"They began yelling, snarling, and howling at +me worse than politicians at a sarcastic member +of the opposite party. I imitated them. Nevertheless, +I was beginning to be frightened. The +weather was turning cold, night was coming on, +and I didn't like the prospect of staying till +morning.</p> + +<p>"All of a sudden I began laughing. I had +till then forgotten my pistol and pocketful of cartridges. +There were seventeen nice wolves—"</p> + +<p>"Nice! Why, grandpa!"</p> + +<p>"They seemed <i>very</i> nice wolves when I recollected +the county bounty of six dollars for a +wolf's head. Also, their skins would fetch two +dollars apiece. 'Why,' said I, 'my dear wolves, +you're worth one hundred and thirty-six dollars.'</p> + +<p>"'Don't you wish you may get it!' said they, +sneering.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> +<p>"'You're worth one hundred and thirty-six +dollars,' I repeated, 'and yet you want to +sponge on a poor boy for a free supper! +Shame!'"</p> + +<p>"Did you say it out loud, grandpapa?"</p> + +<p>"Well—no, Jenny. It's a thing I might +have said, you know; but I didn't exactly think +of it at the time. I was feeling for my pistol. +Just as I tugged it out of its case at my waist, +my knees, arms, and all lost their hold, and +down I fell."</p> + +<p>"Grandpapa, <i>dear!</i>" Jenny nervously +clutched him.</p> + +<p>"I didn't fall far, pet. But the dust! Talk +of sweeping floors! The whole inside of the +tree below me, borne down by my weight, had +fallen in chunks and dust. There I was, gasping +for breath, and the hole eight feet above my +head. The lower entrance was of course blocked +up by the rotten wood."</p> + +<p>"And they couldn't get at you?"</p> + +<p>"No, Jimmy; but I was in a dreadful situation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +At first I did not fully realize it. Choking +for air, my throat filled with particles of dry +rot, I tried to climb up again. But the hollow +had become too large. Nothing but a round +shell of sound wood, a few inches thick, was +left around me. With feet, hands, elbows, and +back, I strove to ascend as before. But I could +not. I was stuck fast!</p> + +<p>"When I pushed with my feet I could only +press my back against the other side of the +enlarged hole. I was horrified. Indeed, I +thought the tree would be my coffin. There +I stood, breathing with difficulty even when I +breathed through my capuchin, which I took +off of my blanket overcoat. And there, I said +to myself, I was doomed to stand till my knees +should give way and my head fall forward, and +some day, after many years, the old tree would +blow down, and out would fall my white and +r-rattling bo-o-nes."</p> + +<p>"Don't—<i>please</i>, grandpapa!" Jenny was +trying to keep from crying.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> +<p>"In spite of my vision of my own skull and +cross-bones," went on grandpapa, solemnly, "I +was too young to despair wholly. I was at first +more annoyed than desperate. To be trapped +so, to die in a hole when I might have shot a +couple of wolves and split the heads of one or +two more with my hatchet before they could +have had boy for supper—this thought made +me very angry. And that brought me to thinking +of my hatchet.</p> + +<p>"It was, I remembered, beneath my feet at +the bottom of the lower opening. If I could +get hold of it, I might use it to chop a hole +through my prison wall.</p> + +<p>"But to burrow down was clearly impossible. +Nevertheless, I knelt to feel the punky stuff +under my feet. The absurdity of trying to work +down a hole without having, like a squirrel, any +place to throw out the material, was plain.</p> + +<p>"But something more cheerful occurred to +me. As I knelt, an object at my back touched +my heels. It was the brass point of my <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>hunting-knife +sheath. Instantly I sprang to my +feet, thrust my revolver back into its case, drew +the stout knife, and drove the blade into the +shell of pine.</p> + +<p>"In two minutes I had scooped the blade +through. In five minutes I had my face at a +small hole that gave me fresh air. In half an +hour I had hacked out a space big enough to +put my shoulders through.</p> + +<p>"The wolves, when they saw me again, were +delighted. As for me, I was much pleased to +see them, and said so. At the compliment they +licked their jaws. They thought I was coming +down, but I had something important to do +first.</p> + +<p>"I drew my pistol. It was a big old-fashioned +Colt's revolver. With the first round +of seven shots I killed three, and wounded +another badly."</p> + +<p>"Then the rest jumped on them and ate them +all up, didn't they, grandpapa?"</p> + +<p>"No, Jimmy, I'm glad to say they didn't.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> +Wolves in Russian stories do, but American +wolves are not cannibalistic; for this is a civilized +country, you know.</p> + +<p>"These wolves didn't even notice their fallen +friends. They devoted their attention wholly to +me, and I assure you, chickens, that I was much +gratified at that.</p> + +<p>"I loaded again. It was a good deal of +trouble in those days, when revolvers wore caps. +I aimed very carefully, and killed four more. +The other ten then ran away—at least some +did; three could drag themselves but slowly.</p> + +<p>"After loading again I dropped down, and +started for camp. Next morning we came back +and got ten skins, after looking up the three +wounded."</p> + +<p>"And you got only eighty dollars, instead of +one hundred and thirty-six, grandpapa," said +Jimmy, ruefully.</p> + +<p>"Well, Jimmy, that was better than furnishing +the pack with raw boy for supper."</p> + +<p>"Is that all, grandpapa?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> +<p>"Yes, Jenny, dear."</p> + +<p>"Do tell us another story."</p> + +<p>"Not to-night, chickens. Not to-night. +Grandpapa is old and sleepy. Good night, +dears; and if you begin to dream of wolves, be +sure you change the subject."</p> + +<p>Grandpapa walked slowly up stairs.</p> + +<p>"Can <i>you</i> make different dreams come, +Jimmy?" said Jenny.</p> + +<p>"You goose! Grandpapa was pretending."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_WATERLOO_VETERAN" id="THE_WATERLOO_VETERAN"></a>THE WATERLOO VETERAN.</h2> + + +<p>Is Waterloo a dead word to you? the name +of a plain of battle, no more? Or do you +see, on a space of rising ground, the little long-coated +man with marble features, and unquenchable +eyes that pierce through rolling +smoke to where the relics of the old Guard +of France stagger and rally and reach fiercely +again up the hill of St. Jean toward the squares, +set, torn, red, re-formed, stubborn, mangled, +victorious beneath the unflinching will of him +behind there,—the Iron Duke of England?</p> + +<p>Or is your interest in the fight literary? and +do you see in a pause of the conflict Major +O'Dowd sitting on the carcass of Pyramus +refreshing himself from that case-bottle of +sound brandy? George Osborne lying yonder, +all his fopperies ended, with a bullet through his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> +heart? Rawdon Crawley riding stolidly behind +General Tufto along the front of the shattered +regiment where Captain Dobbin stands heartsick +for poor Emily?</p> + +<p>Or maybe the struggle arranges itself in your +vision around one figure not named in history +or fiction,—that of your grandfather, or his +father, or some old dead soldier of the great +wars whose blood you exult to inherit, or some +grim veteran whom you saw tottering to the roll-call +beyond when the Queen was young and you +were a little boy.</p> + +<p>For me the shadows of the battle are so +grouped round old John Locke that the historians, +story-tellers, and painters may never quite +persuade me that he was not the centre and +real hero of the action. The French cuirassiers +in my thought-pictures charge again and again +vainly against old John; he it is who breaks the +New Guard; upon the ground that he defends +the Emperor's eyes are fixed all day long. It +is John who occasionally glances at the sky with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +wonder if Blucher has failed them. Upon +Shaw the Lifeguardsman, and John, the Duke +plainly most relies, and the words that Wellington +actually speaks when the time comes for +advance are, "Up, John, and at them!"</p> + +<p>How fate drifted the old veteran of Waterloo +into our little Canadian Lake Erie village I +never knew. Drifted him? No; he ever +marched as if under the orders of his commander. +Tall, thin, white-haired, close-shaven, +and always in knee-breeches and long stockings, +his was an antique and martial figure. "Fresh +white-fish" was his cry, which he delivered as +if calling all the village to fall in for drill.</p> + +<p>So impressive was his demeanor that he dignified +his occupation. For years after he disappeared, +the peddling of white-fish by horse +and cart was regarded in that district as peculiarly +<a name="respectacle" id="respectacle"></a>respectacle. It was a glorious trade when +old John Locke held the steelyards and served +out the glittering fish with an air of distributing +ammunition for a long day's combat.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p> +<p>I believe I noticed, on the first day I saw +him, how he tapped his left breast with a proud +gesture when he had done with a lot of customers +and was about to march again at the head +of his horse. That restored him from trade to +his soldiership—he had saluted his Waterloo +medal! There beneath his threadbare old blue +coat it lay, always felt by the heart of the hero.</p> + +<p>"Why doesn't he wear it outside?" I once +asked.</p> + +<p>"He used to," said my father, "till Hiram +Beaman, the druggist, asked him what he'd +'take for the bit of pewter.'"</p> + +<p>"What did old John say, sir?"</p> + +<p>"'Take for the bit of pewter!' said he, looking +hard at Beaman with scorn. 'I've took +better men's lives nor ever yours was for to get +it, and I'd sell my own for it as quick as ever +I offered it before.'</p> + +<p>"'More fool you,' said Beaman.</p> + +<p>"'You're nowt,' said old John, very calm +and cold, 'you're nowt but walking dirt.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> +From that day forth he would never sell Beaman +a fish; he wouldn't touch his money."</p> + +<p>It must have been late in 1854 or early in +1855 that I first saw the famous medal. Going +home from school on a bright winter afternoon, +I met old John walking very erect, without his +usual fish-supply. A dull round white spot was +clasped on the left breast of his coat.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Locke," said the small boy, staring +with admiration, "is that your glorious Waterloo +medal?"</p> + +<p>"You're a good little lad!" He stooped to +let me see the noble pewter. "War's declared +against Rooshia, and now it's right to show it. +The old regiment's sailed, and my only son is +with the colors."</p> + +<p>Then he took me by the hand and led me +into the village store, where the lawyer read +aloud the news from the paper that the veteran +gave him. In those days there was no railway +within fifty miles of us. It had chanced that +some fisherman brought old John a later paper +than any previously received in the village.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p> +<p>"Ay, but the Duke is gone," said he, shaking +his white head, "and it's curious to be fighting +on the same side with another Boney."</p> + +<p>All that winter and the next, all the long +summer between, old John displayed his medal. +When the report of Alma came, his remarks on +the French failure to get into the fight were +severe. "What was they <i>ever</i>, at best, without +Boney?" he would inquire. But a letter from +his son after Inkermann changed all that.</p> + +<p>"Half of us was killed, and the rest of us +clean tired with fighting," wrote Corporal +Locke. "What with a bullet through the flesh +of my right leg, and the fatigue of using the +bayonet so long, I was like to drop. The Russians +was coming on again as if there was no +end to them, when strange drums came sounding +in the mist behind us. With that we +closed up and faced half-round, thinking they +had outflanked us and the day was gone, so +there was nothing more to do but make out to +die hard, like the sons of Waterloo men. You<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +would have been pleased to see the looks of +what was left of the old regiment, father. Then +all of a sudden a French column came up the +rise out of the mist, screaming, '<i>Vive l'Empereur!</i>' +their drums beating the charge. We +gave them room, for we were too dead tired to +go first. On they went like mad at the Russians, +so that was the end of a hard morning's +work. I was down,—fainted with loss of blood,—but +I will soon be fit for duty again. When +I came to myself there was a Frenchman pouring +brandy down my throat, and talking in his +gibberish as kind as any Christian. Never a +word will I say agin them red-legged French +again."</p> + +<p>"Show me the man that would!" growled old +John. "It was never in them French to act +cowardly. Didn't they beat all the world, and +even stand up many's the day agen ourselves +and the Duke? They didn't beat,—it wouldn't +be in reason,—but they tried brave enough, and +what more'd you ask of mortal men?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p> +<p>With the ending of the Crimean War our +village was illuminated. Rows of tallow candles +in every window, fireworks in a vacant field, and +a torchlight procession! Old John marched +at its head in full regimentals, straight as a +ramrod, the hero of the night. His son had +been promoted for bravery on the field. After +John came a dozen gray militiamen of Queenston +Heights, Lundy's Lane, and Chippewa; +next some forty volunteers of '37. And we +boys of the U. E. Loyalist settlement cheered +and cheered, thrilled with an intense vague +knowledge that the old army of Wellington kept +ghostly step with John, while aerial trumpets +and drums pealed and beat with rejoicing at +the fresh glory of the race and the union of +English-speaking men unconsciously celebrated +and symbolized by the little rustic parade.</p> + +<p>After that the old man again wore his medal +concealed. The Chinese War of 1857 was too +contemptible to celebrate by displaying his +badge of Waterloo.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> +<p>Then came the dreadful tale of the Sepoy +mutiny—Meerut, Delhi, Cawnpore! After the +tale of Nana Sahib's massacre of women and +children was read to old John he never smiled, +I think. Week after week, month after month, +as hideous tidings poured steadily in, his face +became more haggard, gray, and dreadful. The +feeling that he was too old for use seemed to +shame him. He no longer carried his head +high, as of yore. That his son was not marching +behind Havelock with the avenging army +seemed to cut our veteran sorely. Sergeant +Locke had sailed with the old regiment to join +Outram in Persia before the Sepoys broke +loose. It was at this time that old John was +first heard to say, "I'm 'feared something's +gone wrong with my heart."</p> + +<p>Months went by before we learned that the +troops for Persia had been stopped on their +way and thrown into India against the mutineers. +At that news old John marched into the village +with a prouder air than he had worn for many +a day. His medal was again on his breast.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p> +<p>It was but the next month, I think, that the +village lawyer stood reading aloud the account +of the capture of a great Sepoy fort. The veteran +entered the post-office, and all made way +for him. The reading went on:—</p> + +<p>"The blowing open of the Northern Gate +was the grandest personal exploit of the attack. +It was performed by native sappers, covered +by the fire of two regiments, and headed by +Lieutenants Holder and Dacre, Sergeants Green, +Carmody, Macpherson, and Locke."</p> + +<p>The lawyer paused. Every eye turned to +the face of the old Waterloo soldier. He +straightened up to keener attention, threw out +his chest, and tapped the glorious medal in +salute of the names of the brave.</p> + +<p>"God be praised, my son was there!" he +said. "Read on."</p> + +<p>"Sergeant Carmody, while laying the powder, +was killed, and the native havildar wounded. +The powder having been laid, the advance +party slipped down into the ditch to allow the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> +firing party, under Lieutenant Dacre, to do its +duty. While trying to fire the charge he was +shot through one arm and leg. He sank, but +handed the match to Sergeant Macpherson, +who was at once shot dead. Sergeant Locke, +already wounded severely in the shoulder, then +seized the match, and succeeded in firing the +train. He fell at that moment, literally riddled +with bullets."</p> + +<p>"Read on," said old John, in a deeper voice. +All forbore to look twice upon his face.</p> + +<p>"Others of the party were falling, when the +mighty gate was blown to fragments, and the +waiting regiments of infantry, under Colonel +Campbell, rushed into the breach."</p> + +<p>There was a long silence in the post-office, +till old John spoke once more.</p> + +<p>"The Lord God be thanked for all his dealings +with us! My son, Sergeant Locke, died +well for England, Queen, and Duty."</p> + +<p>Nervously fingering the treasure on his breast, +the old soldier wheeled about, and marched<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> +proudly straight down the middle of the village +street to his lonely cabin.</p> + +<p>The villagers never saw him in life again. +Next day he did not appear. All refrained +from intruding on his mourning. But in the +evening, when the Episcopalian minister heard +of his parishioner's loss, he walked to old John's +home.</p> + +<p>There, stretched upon his straw bed, he lay +in his antique regimentals, stiffer than At Attention, +all his medals fastened below that of +Waterloo above his quiet heart. His right +hand lay on an open Bible, and his face wore an +expression as of looking for ever and ever upon +Sergeant Locke and the Great Commander +who takes back unto Him the heroes He +fashions to sweeten the world.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="JOHN_BEDELL_U_E_LOYALISTA" id="JOHN_BEDELL_U_E_LOYALISTA"></a>JOHN BEDELL, U. E. LOYALIST.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></h2> + + +<p>"A renegade! A rebel against his king! +A black-hearted traitor! You dare to +tell me that you love George Winthrop! Son +of canting, lying Ezra Winthrop! By the Eternal, +I'll shoot him on sight if he comes this +side!"</p> + +<p>While old John Bedell was speaking, he tore +and flung away a letter, reached for his long +rifle on its pins above the chimney-place,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +dashed its butt angrily to the floor, and poured +powder into his palm.</p> + +<p>"For Heaven's sake, father! You would +not! You could not! The war is over. It +would be murder!" cried Ruth Bedell, sobbing.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't I?" He poured the powder in. +"Yes, by gracious, quicker'n I'd kill a rattlesnake!" +He placed the round bullet on the +little square of greased rag at the muzzle of his +rifle. "A rank traitor—bone and blood of +those who drove out loyal men!"—he crowded +the tight lead home, dashed the ramrod into +place, looked to the flint. "Rest there,—wake +up for George Winthrop!" and the fierce +old man replaced rifle and powder-horn on +their pegs.</p> + +<p>Bedell's hatred for the foes who had beaten +down King George's cause, and imposed the +alternative of confiscation or the oath of allegiance +on the vanquished, was considered intense, +even by his brother Loyalists of the +Niagara frontier.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p> +<p>"The Squire kind o' sees his boys' blood +when the sky's red," said they in explanation. +But Bedell was so much an enthusiast that he +could almost rejoice because his three stark sons +had gained the prize of death in battle. He +was too brave to hate the fighting-men he had +so often confronted; but he abhorred the politicians, +especially the intimate civic enemies on +whom he had poured scorn before the armed +struggle began. More than any he hated Ezra +Winthrop, the lawyer, arch-revolutionist of their +native town, who had never used a weapon but +his tongue. And now his Ruth, the beloved and +only child left to his exiled age, had confessed +her love for Ezra Winthrop's son! They had +been boy and girl, pretty maiden and bright +stripling together, without the Squire suspecting—he +could not, even now, conceive clearly +so wild a thing as their affection! The confession +burned in his heart like veritable fire,—a +raging anguish of mingled loathing and love. +He stood now gazing at Ruth dumbly, his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> +hands clenched, head sometimes mechanically +quivering, anger, hate, love, grief, tumultuous in +his soul.</p> + +<p>Ruth glanced up—her father seemed about +to speak—she bowed again, shuddering as +though the coming words might kill. Still there +was silence,—a long silence. Bedell stood +motionless, poised, breathing hard—the silence +oppressed the girl—each moment her terror +increased—expectant attention became suffering +that demanded his voice—and still was +silence—save for the dull roar of Niagara +that more and more pervaded the air. The +torture of waiting for the words—a curse +against her, she feared—overwore Ruth's endurance. +She looked up suddenly, and John +Bedell saw in hers the beloved eyes of his dead +wife, shrinking with intolerable fear. He +groaned heavily, flung up his hands despairingly, +and strode out toward the river.</p> + +<p>How crafty smooth the green Niagara +sweeps toward the plunge beneath that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> perpetual +white cloud above the Falls! From +Bedell's clearing below Navy Island, two miles +above the Falls, he could see the swaying and +rolling of the mist, ever rushing up to expand +and overhang. The terrible stream had a profound +fascination for him, with its racing eddies +eating at the shore; its long weeds, visible +through the clear water, trailing close down to +the bottom; its inexorable, eternal, onward +pouring. Because it was so mighty and so +threatening, he rejoiced grimly in the awful +river. To float, watching cracks and ledges of +its flat bottom-rock drift quickly upward; to +bend to his oars only when white crests of the +rapids yelled for his life; to win escape by +sheer strength from points so low down that he +sometimes doubted but the greedy forces had +been tempted too long; to stake his life, watching +tree-tops for a sign that he could yet save it, +was the dreadful pastime by which Bedell often +quelled passionate promptings to revenge his +exile. "The Falls is bound to get the Squire,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> +some day," said the banished settlers. But the +Squire's skiff was clean built as a pickerel, and +his old arms iron-strong. Now when he had +gone forth from the beloved child, who seemed +to him so traitorous to his love and all loyalty, +he went instinctively to spend his rage upon the +river.</p> + +<p>Ruth Bedell, gazing at the loaded rifle, shuddered, +not with dread only, but a sense of having +been treacherous to her father. She had +not told him all the truth. George Winthrop +himself, having made his way secretly through +the forest from Lake Ontario, had given her +his own letter asking leave from the Squire to +visit his newly made cabin. From the moment +of arrival her lover had implored her to fly +with him. But filial love was strong in Ruth +to give hope that her father would yield to +the yet stronger affection freshened in her +heart. Believing their union might be permitted, +she had pledged herself to escape with +her lover if it were forbidden. Now he waited<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> +by the hickory wood for a signal to conceal +himself or come forward.</p> + +<p>When Ruth saw her father far down the +river, she stepped to the flagstaff he had raised +before building the cabin—his first duty being +to hoist the Union Jack! It was the largest +flag he could procure; he could see it flying +defiantly all day long; at night he could hear +its glorious folds whipping in the wind; the hot +old Loyalist loved to fancy his foeman cursing +at it from the other side, nearly three miles +away. Ruth hauled the flag down a little, then +ran it up to the mast-head again.</p> + +<p>At that, a tall young fellow came springing +into the clearing, jumping exultantly over brush-heaps +and tree-trunks, his queue waggling, his +eyes bright, glad, under his three-cornered hat. +Joying that her father had yielded, he ran forward +till he saw Ruth's tears.</p> + +<p>"What, sweetheart!—crying? It was the +signal to come on," cried he.</p> + +<p>"Yes; to see you sooner, George. Father<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> +is out yonder. But no, he will never, never +consent."</p> + +<p>"Then you will come with me, love," he +said, taking her hands.</p> + +<p>"No, no; I dare not," sobbed Ruth. "Father +would overtake us. He swears to shoot you on +sight! Go, George! Escape while you can! +Oh, if he should find you here!"</p> + +<p>"But, darling love, we need not fear. We +can escape easily. I know the forest path. +But—" Then he thought how weak her pace.</p> + +<p>"We might cross here before he could come +up!" cried Winthrop, looking toward where +the Squire's boat was now a distant blotch.</p> + +<p>"No, no," wailed Ruth, yet yielding to his +embrace. "This is the last time I shall see you +forever and forever. Go, dear,—good-bye, +my love, my love."</p> + +<p>But he clasped her in his strong arms, kissing, +imploring, cheering her,—and how should +true love choose hopeless renunciation?</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p> +<p>Tempting, defying, regaining his lost ground, +drifting down again, trying hard to tire out and +subdue his heart-pangs, Bedell dallied with +death more closely than ever. He had let his +skiff drift far down toward the Falls. Often he +could see the wide smooth curve where the green +volume first lapses vastly on a lazy slope, to +shoulder up below as a huge calm billow, before +pitching into the madness of waves whose confusion +of tossing and tortured crests hurries to +the abyss. The afternoon grew toward evening +before he pulled steadily home, crawling away +from the roarers against the cruel green, watching +the ominous cloud with some such grim +humor as if under observation by an overpowering +but baffled enemy.</p> + +<p>Approaching his landing, a shout drew Bedell's +glance ashore to a group of men excitedly gesticulating. +They seemed motioning him to watch +the American shore. Turning, he saw a boat in +midstream, where no craft then on the river, +except his own skiff, could be safe, unless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> +manned by several good men. Only two oars +were flashing. Bedell could make out two +figures indistinctly. It was clear they were +doomed,—though still a full mile above the +point whence he had come, they were much +farther out than he when near the rapids. Yet +one life might be saved! Instantly Bedell's +bow turned outward, and cheers flung to him +from ashore.</p> + +<p>At that moment he looked to his own landing-place, +and saw that his larger boat was gone. +Turning again, he angrily recognized it, but +kept right on—he must try to rescue even a +thief. He wondered Ruth had not prevented +the theft, but had no suspicion of the truth. +Always he had refused to let her go out upon +the river—mortally fearing it for <i>her</i>.</p> + +<p>Thrusting his skiff mightily forward,—often +it glanced, half-whirled by up-whelming and +spreading spaces of water,—the old Loyalist's +heart was quit of his pangs, and sore only with +certainty that he must abandon one human soul<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> +to death. By the time that he could reach the +larger boat his would be too near the rapids for +escape with three!</p> + +<p>When George Winthrop saw Bedell in pursuit, +he bent to his ash-blades more strongly, and +Ruth, trembling to remember her father's threats, +urged her lover to speed. They feared the +pursuer only, quite unconscious that they were +in the remorseless grasp of the river. Ruth had +so often seen her father far lower down than +they had yet drifted that she did not realize the +truth, and George, a stranger in the Niagara +district, was unaware of the length of the cataracts +above the Falls. He was also deceived by +the stream's treacherous smoothness, and instead +of half-upward, pulled straight across, as +if certainly able to land anywhere he might +touch the American shore.</p> + +<p>Bedell looked over his shoulder often. When +he distinguished a woman, he put on more +force, but slackened soon—the pull home +would tax his endurance, he reflected. In<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> +some sort it was a relief to know that one <i>was</i> +a woman; he had been anticipating trouble +with two men equally bent on being saved. +That the man would abandon himself bravely, +the Squire took as a matter of course. For a +while he thought of pulling with the woman to +the American shore, more easily to be gained +from the point where the rescue must occur. +But he rejected the plan, confident he could +win back, for he had sworn never to set foot on +that soil unless in war. Had it been possible +to save both, he would have been forced to +disregard that vow; but the Squire knew that it +was impossible for him to reach the New York +Shore with two passengers—two would overload +his boat beyond escape. Man or woman—one +must go over the Falls.</p> + +<p>Having carefully studied landmarks for his +position, Bedell turned to look again at the +doomed boat, and a well-known ribbon caught +his attention! The old man dropped his oars, +confused with horror. "My God, my God! it's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> +Ruth!" he cried, and the whole truth came +with another look, for he had not forgotten +George Winthrop.</p> + +<p>"Your father stops, Ruth. Perhaps he is in +pain," said George to the quaking girl.</p> + +<p>She looked back. "What can it be?" she +cried, filial love returning overmasteringly.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he is only tired." George affected +carelessness,—his first wish was to secure his +bride,—and pulled hard away to get all advantage +from Bedell's halt.</p> + +<p>"Tired! He is in danger of the Falls, then!" +screamed Ruth. "Stop! Turn! Back to him!"</p> + +<p>Winthrop instantly prepared to obey. "Yes, +darling," he said, "we must not think of ourselves. +We must go back to save him!" Yet +his was a sore groan at turning; what Duty +ordered was so hard,—he must give up his love +for the sake of his enemy.</p> + +<p>But while Winthrop was still pulling round, +the old Loyalist resumed rowing, with a more +rapid stroke that soon brought him alongside.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p> +<p>In those moments of waiting, all Bedell's life, +his personal hatreds, his loves, his sorrows, had +been reviewed before his soul. He had seen +again his sons, the slain in battle, in the pride +of their young might; and the gentle eyes of +Ruth had pleaded with him beneath his dead +wife's brow. Into those beloved, unforgotten, +visionary eyes he looked with an encouraging, +strengthening gaze,—now that the deed to be +done was as clear before him as the face of +Almighty God. In accepting it the darker passions +that had swayed his stormy life fell suddenly +away from their hold on his soul. How +trivial had been old disputes! how good at +heart old well-known civic enemies! how poor +seemed hate! how mean and poor seemed all +but Love and Loyalty!</p> + +<p>Resolution and deep peace had come upon +the man.</p> + +<p>The lovers wondered at his look. No wrath +was there. The old eyes were calm and cheerful, +a gentle smile flickered about his lips.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +Only that he was very pale, Ruth would have +been wholly glad for the happy change.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, father," she cried, as he laid +hand on their boat.</p> + +<p>"I do, my child," he answered. "Come +now without an instant's delay to me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, father, if you would let us be happy!" +cried Ruth, heart-torn by two loves.</p> + +<p>"Dear, you shall be happy. I was wrong, +child; I did not understand how you loved him. +But come! You hesitate! Winthrop, my son, +you are in some danger. Into this boat instantly! +both of you! Take the oars, George. +Kiss me, dear, my Ruth, once more. Good-bye, +my little girl. Winthrop, be good to her. And +may God bless you both forever!"</p> + +<p>As the old Squire spoke, he stepped into the +larger boat, instantly releasing the skiff. His +imperative gentleness had secured his object +without loss of time, and the boats were apart +with Winthrop's readiness to pull.</p> + +<p>"Now row! Row for her life to yonder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> +shore! Bow well up! Away, or the Falls will +have her!" shouted Bedell.</p> + +<p>"But you!" cried Winthrop, bending for his +stroke. Yet he did not comprehend Bedell's +meaning. Till the last the old man had spoken +without strong excitement. Dread of the river +was not on George; his bliss was supreme in +his thought, and he took the Squire's order for +one of exaggerated alarm.</p> + +<p>"Row, I say, with all your strength!" cried +Bedell, with a flash of anger that sent the young +fellow away instantly. "Row! Concern yourself +not for me. I am going home. Row! for +her life, Winthrop! God will deliver you yet. +Good-bye, children. Remember always my +blessing is freely given you."</p> + +<p>"God bless and keep you forever, father!" +cried Ruth, from the distance, as her lover +pulled away.</p> + +<p>They landed, conscious of having passed a +swift current, indeed, but quite unthinking of +the price paid for their safety. Looking back<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +on the darkling river, they saw nothing of the +old man.</p> + +<p>"Poor father!" sighed Ruth, "how kind he +was! I'm sore-hearted for thinking of him at +home, so lonely."</p> + +<p>Left alone in the clumsy boat, Bedell +stretched with the long, heavy oars for his own +shore, making appearance of strong exertion. +But when he no longer feared that his children +might turn back with sudden understanding, +and vainly, to his aid, he dragged the boat +slowly, watching her swift drift down—down +toward the towering mist. Then as he gazed at +the cloud, rising in two distinct volumes, came a +thought spurring the Loyalist spirit in an instant. +He was not yet out of American water! Thereafter +he pulled steadily, powerfully, noting landmarks +anxiously, studying currents, considering +always their trend to or from his own shore. +Half an hour had gone when he again dropped +into slower motion. Then he could see Goat +Island's upper end between him and the mist of +the American Fall.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p> +<p>Now the old man gave himself up to intense +curiosity, looking over into the water with fascinated +inquiry. He had never been so far down +the river. Darting beside their shadows, deep +in the clear flood, were now larger fishes than +he had ever taken, and all moved up as if +hurrying to escape. How fast the long trailing, +swaying, single weeds, and the crevices in flat +rock whence they so strangely grew, went up +stream and away as if drawn backward. The +sameness of the bottom to that higher up interested +him—where then <i>did</i> the current begin +to sweep clean? He should certainly know +that soon, he thought, without a touch of fear, +having utterly accepted death when he determined +it were base to carry his weary old life a +little longer, and let Ruth's young love die. +Now the Falls' heavy monotone was overborne +by terrible sounds—a mingled clashing, shrieking, +groaning, and rumbling, as of great bowlders +churned in their beds.</p> + +<p>Bedell was nearing the first long swoop downward<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> +at the rapids' head when those watching +him from the high bank below the Chippewa +River's mouth saw him put his boat stern with +the current and cease rowing entirely, facing +fairly the up-rushing mist to which he was being +hurried. Then they observed him stooping, as +if writing, for a time. Something flashed in +his hands, and then he knelt with head bowed +down. Kneeling, they prayed, too.</p> + +<p>Now he was almost on the brink of the cascades. +Then he arose, and, glancing backward +to his home, caught sight of his friends on the +high shore. Calmly he waved a farewell. What +then? Thrice round he flung his hat, with a +gesture they knew full well. Some had seen +that exultant waving in front of ranks of battle. +As clearly as though the roar of waters had not +drowned his ringing voice, they knew that old +John Bedell, at the poise of death, cheered +thrice, "Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah for the +King!"</p> + +<p>They found his body a week afterward, floating<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> +with the heaving water in the gorge below +the Falls. Though beaten almost out of recognition, +portions of clothing still adhered to it, +and in a waistcoat pocket they found the old +Loyalist's metal snuff-box, with this inscription +scratched by knife-point on the cover: "God be +praised, I die in British waters! <span class="smcap">John Bedell</span>."</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> The United Empire Loyalists were American Tories +who forsook their homes and property after the Revolution +in order to live in Canada under the British Flag. +It is impossible to understand Canadian feeling for the +Crown at the present day without understanding the +U. E. Loyalist spirit, which, though Canadians are not +now unfriendly to the United States, is still the most +important political force in the Dominion, and holds it +firmly in allegiance to the Queen.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="VERBITZSKYS_STRATAGEM" id="VERBITZSKYS_STRATAGEM"></a>VERBITZSKY'S STRATAGEM.</h2> + + +<p>What had Alexander Verbitzsky and I +done that the secret service of our +father, the Czar, should dog us for five months, +and in the end drive us to Siberia, whence we +have, by the goodness of God, escaped from +Holy Russia, our mother? They called us +Nihilists—as if all Nihilists were of one way of +thinking!</p> + +<p>We did not belong to the Terrorists,—the +section that believes in killing the tyrant or his +agents in hope that the hearts of the mighty +may be shaken as Pharaoh's was in Egypt long +ago. No; we were two students of nineteen +years old, belonging to the section of "peasantists," +or of Peaceful Education. Its members +solemnly devote all their lives to teaching the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> +poor people to read, think, save, avoid <i>vodka</i>, +and seek quietly for such liberty with order as +here in America all enjoy. Was that work a +crime in Verbitzsky and me?</p> + +<p>Was it a crime for us to steal to the freight-shed +of the Moscow and St. Petersburg Railway +that night in December two years ago? We sat +in the superintendent's dark office, and talked +to the eight trainmen that were brought in by +the guard of the eastern gate, who had belonged +to all the sections, but was no longer "active."</p> + +<p>We were there to prevent a crime. At the +risk of our lives, we two went to save the Czar +of all the Russias, though well we knew that +Dmitry Nolenki, chief of the secret police, had +offered a reward on our capture.</p> + +<p>Boris Kojukhov and the other seven trainmen +who came with him had been chosen, with ten +others who were not Nihilists, to operate the +train that was to bear His Imperial Majesty next +day to St. Petersburg. Now Boris was one of +the Section of Terror, and most terrible was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> +his scheme. Kojukhov was not really his name +I may tell you. Little did the Czar's railway +agents suspect that Boris was a noble, and +brother to the gentle girl that had been sent to +Siberia. No wonder the heart of Boris was hot +and his brain partly crazed when he learned of +Zina's death in the starvation strike at the Olek +Mines.</p> + +<p>Verbitzsky was cousin to Zina and Boris, and +as his young head was a wise one, Boris wished +to consult him. We both went, hoping to persuade +him out of the crime he meditated.</p> + +<p>"No," said Boris, "my mind is made up. I +may never have such another chance. I will +fling these two bombs under the foremost car at +the middle of the Volga Bridge. The tyrant +and his staff shall all plunge with us down to +death in the river."</p> + +<p>"The bombs—have you them here?" asked +Verbitzsky in the dark.</p> + +<p>"I have them in my hands," said Boris, tapping +them lightly together. "I have carried<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> +them in my inner clothing for a week. They +give me warmth at my heart as I think how +they shall free Holy Russia."</p> + +<p>There was a stir of dismay in the dark office. +The comrades, though willing to risk death at +the Volga Bridge, were horrified by Kojukhov's +tapping of the iron bombs together, and all rose +in fear of their explosion, all except Verbitzsky +and me.</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, be more careful, Boris!" +said my friend.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you're afraid, too?" said Kojukhov. +"Pah! you cowards of the Peace Section!" +He tapped the bombs together again.</p> + +<p>"I <i>am</i> afraid," said Verbitzsky. "Why +should I die for your reckless folly? Will any +good happen if you explode the bombs here? +You will but destroy all of us, and our friends +the watchmen, and the freight-sheds containing +the property of many worthy people."</p> + +<p>"You are a fool, Verbitzsky!" said his +cousin. "Come here. Whisper."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> +<p>Something Boris then whispered in my comrade's +ear. When Verbitzsky spoke again his +voice seemed calmer.</p> + +<p>"Let me feel the shape," he said.</p> + +<p>"Here," said Boris, as if handing something +to Verbitzsky.</p> + +<p>At that moment the outer door of the freight-shed +resounded with a heavy blow. The next +blow, as from a heavy maul, pounded the door +open.</p> + +<p>"The police!" shouted Boris. "They must +have dogged you, Alexander, for they don't suspect +me." He dashed out of the dark office +into the great dark shed.</p> + +<p>As we all ran forth, glancing at the main door +about seventy feet distant, we saw a squad of +police outlined against the moonlit sky beyond +the great open space of railway yard. My eyes +were dazzled by a headlight that one of them +carried. By that lamp they must have seen us +clearly; for as we started to run away down the +long shed they opened fire, and I stumbled +over Boris Kojukhov, as he fell with a shriek.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p> +<p>Rising, I dodged aside, thinking to avoid +bullets, and then dashed against a bale of wool, +one of a long row. Clambering over it, I +dropped beside a man crouching on the other +side.</p> + +<p>"Michael, is it you?" whispered Verbitzsky.</p> + +<p>"Yes. We're lost, of course?"</p> + +<p>"No. Keep still. Let them pass."</p> + +<p>The police ran past us down the middle aisle +left between high walls of wool bales. They +did not notice the narrow side lane in which we +were crouching.</p> + +<p>"Come. I know a way out," said Verbitzsky. +"I was all over here this morning, looking +round, in case we should be surprised to-night."</p> + +<p>"What's this?" I whispered, groping, and +touching something in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Kojukhov's bombs. I have them both. +Come. Ah, poor Boris, he's with Zina now!"</p> + +<p>The bomb was a section of iron pipe about +two inches in diameter and eighteen inches +long. Its ends were closed with iron caps.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> +Filled with nitroglycerine, such pipes are terrible +shells, which explode by concussion. I was +amazed to think of the recklessness of Boris in +tapping them together.</p> + +<p>"Put them down, Verbitzsky!" I whispered, +as we groped our way between high walls of +bales.</p> + +<p>"No, no, they're weapons!" he whispered. +"We may need them."</p> + +<p>"Then for the love of the saints, be careful!"</p> + +<p>"Don't be afraid," he said, as we neared a +small side door.</p> + +<p>Meantime, we heard the police run after the +Terrorists, who brought up against the great +door at the south end. As they tore away the +bar and opened the door they shouted with dismay. +They had been confronted by another +squad of police! For a few moments a confusion +of sounds came to us, all somewhat +muffled by passing up and over the high walls +of baled wool.</p> + +<p>"Boris! Where are you?" cried one.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p> +<p>"He's killed!" cried another.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if we had the bombs!"</p> + +<p>"He gave them to Verbitzsky."</p> + +<p>"Verbitzsky, where are you? Throw them! +Let us all die together!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's death to be taken!"</p> + +<p>Then we heard shots, blows, and shrieks, all +in confusion. After a little there was clatter of +grounded arms, and then no sound but the +heavy breathing of men who had been struggling +hard. That silence was a bad thing for Verbitzsky +and me, because the police heard the +opening of the small side door through which +Alexander next moment led. In a moment we +dashed out into the clear night, over the tracks, +toward the Petrovsky Gardens.</p> + +<p>As we reached the railway yard the police +ran round their end of the wool-shed in pursuit—ten +of them. The others stayed with the +prisoners.</p> + +<p>"Don't fire! Don't shoot!" cried a voice +we knew well,—the voice of Dmitry Nolenki, +chief of the secret police.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p> +<p>"One of them is Verbitzsky!" he cried to +his men. "The conspirator I've been after for +four months. A hundred roubles for him who +first seizes him! He must be taken alive!"</p> + +<p>That offer, I suppose, was what pushed them +to such eagerness that they all soon felt themselves +at our mercy. And that offer was what +caused them to follow so silently, lest other +police should overhear a tumult and run to head +us off.</p> + +<p>Verbitzsky, though encumbered by the bombs, +kept the lead, for he was a very swift runner. I +followed close at his heels. We could hear +nothing in the great walled-in railway yard +except the clack of feet on gravel, and sometimes +on the network of steel tracks that shone +silvery as the hard snow under the round moon.</p> + +<p>My comrade ran like a man who knows +exactly where he means to go. Indeed, he +had already determined to follow a plan that +had long before occurred to him. It was a +vision of what one or two desperate men with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> +bombs might do at close quarters against a +number with pistols.</p> + +<p>As Verbitzsky approached the south end of +the yard, which is excavated deeply and walled +in from the surrounding streets, he turned, to +my amazement, away from the line that led into +the suburbs, and ran along four tracks that led +under a street bridge.</p> + +<p>This bridge was fully thirty feet overhead, +and flanked by wings of masonry. The four +tracks led into a small yard, almost surrounded +by high stone warehouses; a yard devoted +solely to turn-tables for locomotives. There +was no exit from it except under the bridge that +we passed beneath.</p> + +<p>"Good!" we heard Nolenki cry, fifty yards +behind. "We have them now in a trap!"</p> + +<p>At that, Verbitzsky, still in the moonlight, +slackened speed, half-turned as if in hesitation, +then ran on more slowly, with zigzag steps, as if +desperately looking for a way out. But he said +to me in a low, panting voice:—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p> +<p>"We shall escape. Do exactly as I do."</p> + +<p>When the police were not fifty feet behind us, +Verbitzsky jumped down about seven feet into +a wide pit. I jumped to his side. We were +now standing in the walled-in excavation for a +new locomotive turn-table. This pit was still +free from its machinery and platform.</p> + +<p>"We are done now!" I said, staring around +as Verbitzsky stopped in the middle of the +circular pit, which was some forty feet wide.</p> + +<p>Just as the police came crowding to the edge, +Verbitzsky fell on his knees as if in surrender. +In their eagerness to lay first hands, on him, all +the police jumped down except the chief, Dmitry +Nolenki. Some fell. As those who kept their +feet rushed toward us, Verbitzsky sprang up and +ran to the opposite wall, with me at his heels.</p> + +<p>Three seconds later the foremost police were +within fifteen feet of us. Then Verbitzsky +raised his terrible bombs.</p> + +<p>From high above the roofs of the warehouses +the full moon so clearly illuminated the yard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> +that we could see every button on our assailants' +coats, and even the puffs of fat Nolenki's breath. +He stood panting on the opposite wall of the +excavation.</p> + +<p>"Halt, or die!" cried Verbitzsky, in a terrible +voice.</p> + +<p>The bombs were clearly to be seen in his +hands. Every policeman in Moscow knew of +the destruction done, only six days before, by +just such weapons. The foremost men halted +instantly. The impetus of those behind brought +all together in a bunch—nine expectants of +instant death. Verbitzsky spoke again:—</p> + +<p>"If any man moves hand or foot, I'll throw +these," he cried. "Listen!"</p> + +<p>"Why, you fool," said Nolenki, a rather +slow-witted man, "you can't escape. Surrender +instantly."</p> + +<p>He drew his revolver and pointed it at us.</p> + +<p>"Michael," said Verbitzsky to me, in that +steely voice which I had never before heard +from my gentle comrade; "Michael, Nolenki<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> +can shoot but one of us before he dies. Take +this bomb. Now if he hits me you throw your +bomb at him. If he hits you I will throw mine."</p> + +<p>"Infernal villains!" gasped the chief; but +we could see his pistol wavering.</p> + +<p>"Michael," resumed Verbitzsky, "we will +give Nolenki a chance for his life. Obey me +exactly! Listen! If Dmitry Nolenki does +not jump down into this pit before I say five, +throw your bomb straight at him! I will, at +the moment I say five, throw mine at these +rascals."</p> + +<p>"Madman!" cried Nolenki. "Do you +think to—"</p> + +<p>He stopped as if paralyzed. I suppose he +had suddenly understood that the explosion of +a bomb in that small, high-walled yard would +kill every man in it.</p> + +<p>"One!" cried Verbitzsky.</p> + +<p>"But I may not hit him!" said I.</p> + +<p>"No matter. If it explodes within thirty +feet of him he will move no more."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p> +<p>I took one step forward and raised the bomb. +Did I mean to throw it? I do not know. I +think not. But I knew we must make the +threat or be captured and hung. And I felt +certain that the bomb would be exploded anyway +when Verbitzsky should say "Five." He +would then throw his, and mine would explode +by the concussion.</p> + +<p>"Two!" said Verbitzsky.</p> + +<p>Dmitry Nolenki had lowered his pistol. He +glanced behind him uneasily.</p> + +<p>"If he runs, throw it!" said Verbitzsky, +loudly. "THREE!"</p> + +<p>The chief of the Moscow secret police was +reputed a brave man, but he was only a cruel +one. Now his knees trembled so that we could +see them shake, and his teeth chattered in the +still cold night. Verbitzsky told me afterward +that he feared the man's slow brain had become +so paralyzed by fright that he might not be able +to think and obey and jump down. That would +have placed my comrade and me in a dreadful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> +dilemma, but quite a different one from what +you may suppose.</p> + +<p>As if to make Nolenki reflect, Verbitzsky +spoke more slowly:—</p> + +<p>"If Dmitry Nolenki jumps down into this pit +<i>before</i> I say five, do <i>not</i> throw the bomb at him. +You understand, Michael, do not throw if he +jumps down instantly. <span class="smcap">Four</span>!"</p> + +<p>Nolenki's legs were so weak that he could +not walk to the edge. In trying to do so he +stumbled, fell, crawled, and came in head first, +a mere heap.</p> + +<p>"Wise Nolenki!" said my comrade, with a +laugh. Then in his tone of desperate resolution, +"Nolenki, get down on your hands and knees, +and put your head against that wall. Don't +move now—if you wish to live."</p> + +<p>"Now, men," he cried to the others in military +fashion, "right about, face!"</p> + +<p>They hesitated, perhaps fearful that he would +throw at them when they turned.</p> + +<p>"About! instantly!" he cried. They all +turned.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p> +<p>"Now, men, you see your chief. At the word +'March,' go and kneel in a row beside him, +your heads against that wall. Hump your +backs as high as you can. If any man moves to +get out, all will suffer together. You understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes! yes! yes!" came in an agony of +abasement from their lips.</p> + +<p>"March!"</p> + +<p>When they were all kneeling in a row, Verbitzsky +said to me clearly:—</p> + +<p>"Michael, you can easily get to the top of +that wall from any one of their backs. No man +will dare to move. Go! Wait on the edge! +Take your bomb with you!"</p> + +<p>I obeyed. I stood on a man's back. I laid +my bomb with utmost care on the wall, over +which I could then see. Then I easily lifted +myself out by my hands and elbows.</p> + +<p>"Good!" said Verbitzsky. "Now, Michael, +stand there till I come. If they try to seize me, +throw your bomb. We can all die together."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p> +<p>In half a minute he had stepped on Nolenki's +back. Nolenki groaned with abasement. Next +moment Verbitzsky was beside me.</p> + +<p>"Give me your bomb. Now, Michael," he +said loudly, "I will stand guard over these +wretches till I see you beyond the freight-sheds. +Walk at an ordinary pace, lest you be seen and +suspected."</p> + +<p>"But you? They'll rise and fire at you as +you run," I said.</p> + +<p>"Of course they will. But you will escape. +Here! Good-bye!"</p> + +<p>He embraced me, and whispered in my ear:</p> + +<p>"Go the opposite way from the freight-sheds. +Go out toward the Petrovsky Gardens. There +are few police there. Run hard after you've +walked out under the bridge and around the +abutments. You will then be out of hearing."</p> + +<p>"Go, dear friend," he said aloud, in a mournful +voice. "I may never see you again. Possibly +I may have to destroy myself and all +here. Go!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> +<p>I obeyed precisely, and had not fairly reached +the yard's end when Verbitzsky, running very +silently, came up beside me.</p> + +<p>"I think they must be still fancying that I'm +standing over them," he chuckled. "No, they +are shooting! Now, out they come!"</p> + +<p>From where we now stood in shadow we +could see Nolenki and his men rush furiously +out from under the bridge. They ran away +from us toward the freight-sheds, shouting the +alarm, while we calmly walked home to our +unsuspected lodgings.</p> + +<p>Not till then did I think of the bombs.</p> + +<p>"Where are they?" I asked in alarm.</p> + +<p>"I left them for the police. They will ruin +Nolenki—it was he who sent poor Zina to +Siberia and her death."</p> + +<p>"Ruin him?" I said, wondering.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"They were not loaded."</p> + +<p>"Not loaded!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p> +<p>"That's what Boris whispered to me in the +wool-shed office. He meant to load them +to-morrow before going to His Imperial Majesty's +train. Nolenki will be laughed to death +in Moscow, if not sent to Siberia."</p> + +<p>Verbitzsky was right. Nolenki, after being +laughed nearly to death, was sent to Siberia in +disgrace, and we both worked in the same gang +with him for eight months before we escaped +from the Ural Mines. No doubt he is working +there yet.</p> + + +<p class="center">THE END.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p> +<p><i>JUST ISSUED</i>....</p> + +<h2> +ETCHINGS</h2> +<h6>FROM A</h6> +<h2>PARSONAGE VERANDA</h2> +<h6>BY</h6> +<h3>MRS. E. JEFFERS GRAHAM</h3> +<h5>Illustrated by J. W. BENGOUGH</h5> + +<h3>CLOTH,——$1.00</h3> + +<p><b>Contents</b>: <span class="smcap">The Parsonage—Solomon Wiseacre—Two Women—Marion +Fuller—Jacob Whinely—Carlo—A +Pensioner—Mrs Taffety—The Knight and the +Dove—A Cross—Under a Cloud—Joy in the Morning—A +Supply—Only a Child—Miss Primperty—A +Temperance Meeting—A Dinner Party—Au +Revoir—Parting.</span></p> + +<p>The following words from the closing sketch of this charming book +are representative of the spirit and style of the whole: "The moon is +shining in calm majesty. Her children, the stars, are laughing and +twinkling around her. Earth's children are sleeping, carousing and +suffering. I am writing in the moonlight. I am so glad we have lived +here—so happy that we have known all these good, heroic, sweet +characters. We need not read novels to find heroes. They are living +all around us. We are talking to them every day. They pass us on the +street, they sit by us in the church and hall. There is no historian to +write of them, only a book of remembrance in heaven, where all their +good deeds are recorded."</p> + +<p>Smiles and tears alternate as the delicate humor and tender pathos +succeed each other through these delightful character sketches. We +do not hope for popularity for the book—we are <i>sure of it</i>.</p> + + +<h6>For Sale by all Booksellers</h6> + +<h2>WILLIAM BRIGGS, Publisher</h2> +<h5>29-33 Richmond Street West, TORONTO</h5> +<h6>Montreal: <span class="smcap">C. W. Coates</span>. Halifax: <span class="smcap">S. F. Huestis</span>.</h6> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><i>TWO NEW BOOKS</i></p> + +<h2>Forest, Lake <span class="smcap">and</span> Prairie</h2> + +<h3><i>TWENTY YEARS OF FRONTIER LIFE IN<br /> +WESTERN CANADA, 1842-1862.</i></h3> + +<h6>BY</h6> + +<h4>REV. JOHN McDOUGALL</h4> + +<p class="center"><i>With Twenty-seven Full-page Original Illustrations<br /> +by J. E. LAUGHLIN.</i></p> + +<p class="center">Strongly bound in English Cloth, with handsome original +design in ink and gold.</p> + +<h4>PRICE,——$1.00</h4> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<h6>A Companion Book to "Black Beauty."</h6> + +<h2>LION, THE MASTIFF</h2> + +<h4>FROM LIFE</h4> + +<h3>By A. G. SAVIGNY</h3> + +<p class="center">With Introduction by REV. PRINCIPAL CAVEN, D.D.</p> + +<h5>CLOTH, 50 CENTS NET</h5> + +<p>An ingenious and clever humane story in which "Lion" tells the narrative +of his life, to quote Principal Caven, "with more vivacity than some famous men +have exemplified in memoirs of themselves." It should be in the hands of every +boy and girl in Canada. The author has woven into her story a great deal of useful +information to guide us in our treatment of dumb animals.</p> + +<h4>WILLIAM BRIGGS, Publisher</h4> +<h5>Wesley Buildings, Toronto</h5> +<h6>Montreal: C. W. COATES. Halifax: S. F. HUESTIS.</h6> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="SOME_RECENT_ISSUES" id="SOME_RECENT_ISSUES"></a><b>SOME RECENT ISSUES.</b></h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="recent"> +<tr><td align='left'><b>A Veteran of 1812.</b> By Mary Agnes FitzGibbon</td><td align='right'>$1.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>Cape Breton, Historic, Picturesque and Descriptive.</b> By John M. Gow</td><td align='right'>3.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>Birds of Ontario.</b> By Thomas McIlwraith</td><td align='right'>2.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>Pearls and Pebbles; or, Notes of an Old Naturalist.</b> By Mrs. Catharine Parr Traill. With Biographical Sketch by Mary Agnes FitzGibbon</td><td align='right'>1.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>The Life and Times of Major-General Sir Isaac Brock.</b> By D. B. Read, Q.C.</td><td align='right'>1.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>The History of British Columbia.</b> From its Earliest Discovery to the Present Time. By Alexander Begg.</td><td align='right'>3.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>China and its People.</b> By W. H. Withrow, D.D.</td><td align='right'>1.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>The Native Races of North America.</b> By W. H. Withrow, D.D.</td><td align='right'>0.75</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>Japan, the Land of the Morning.</b> By Rev. J. W. Saunby, B.A.</td><td align='right'>1.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>Motley: Verses Grave and Gay.</b> By J. W. Bengough. Illustrated by the Author</td><td align='right'>1.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>Forest, Lake and Prairie</b>: Twenty Years of Frontier Life in Western Canada—1842-62. By Rev. John McDougall</td><td align='right'>1.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>The Catholic Church in the Niagara Peninsula.</b> By Rev. Dean Harris</td><td align='right'>2.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>Etchings from a Parsonage Veranda.</b> By Mrs. E. Jeffers Graham. Illustrated by J. W. Bengough</td><td align='right'>1.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>Lion the Mastiff.</b> By A. G. Savigny</td><td align='right'>0.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>The Red, Red Wine.</b> By J. Jackson Wray. Illustrated.</td><td align='right'>1.00</td></tr> +</table></div> +<p class="center"> +<b><big>WILLIAM BRIGGS, Publisher,</big></b><br /> +29-33 Richmond St. West, Toronto.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Montreal</span>: C. W. COATES. <span class="smcap">Halifax: S. F. Huestis</span>.<br /> +</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + + +<p class="center">Transcriber's Notes:</p> + +<p>Pg. 241: <a href="#respectacle">Respectacle</a> is possibly a typo for respectable, or the +author's coined word combining respectable and spectacle.<br /> +(For years after he disappeared, the peddling of white-fish by horse +and cart was regarded in that district as peculiarly respectacle.)</p> + + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Old Man Savarin and Other Stories, by +Edward Wilson Thomson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD MAN SAVARIN AND OTHER STORIES *** + +***** This file should be named 20345-h.htm or 20345-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/3/4/20345/ + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Diane Monico, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images +generously made available by the Canadian Institute for +Historical Microreproductions (www.canadiana.org).) + + +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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