diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:27:25 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:27:25 -0700 |
| commit | 0904ce496a3514f6ad92ddb0ceda2978f955512e (patch) | |
| tree | 7b789734199ca2c7dd1f23f51be5dcafc6cea2f9 /6373-h | |
Diffstat (limited to '6373-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 6373-h/6373-h.htm | 19129 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 6373-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 0 -> 357104 bytes |
2 files changed, 19129 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/6373-h/6373-h.htm b/6373-h/6373-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bbdf1de --- /dev/null +++ b/6373-h/6373-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,19129 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta charset="UTF-8" /> + <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Luck of Roaring Camp and Other Tales, by Bret Harte</title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" /> +<style> /* <![CDATA[ */ + + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + + +.ph2, .ph3 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } +.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } +.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2,h3 {page-break-before: avoid;} + /* ]]> */ </style> + </head> + <body> + + + + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold;'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Title, by Author</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Luck of Roaring Camp and Other Tales + With Condensed Novels, Spanish and American Legends, and Earlier Papers</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Bret Harte</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 1, 2004 [eBook #6373]<br /> +[Most recently updated: August 28, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Skip Doughty, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team +<br />HTML file produced by David Widger +<br />Revised by Richard Tonsing.</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF BRET HARTE ***</div> + + + + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP AND OTHER TALES + </h1> + <div class='ph3'> + With Condensed Novels, Spanish <br /> And American Legends, And Earlier + Papers + </div> + <div class='ph2'> + From The Writings Of Bret Harte + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class='ph2'> + By Bret Harte + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class='ph3'> + <i>With an Introduction by the Author</i> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a id="2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + PUBLISHERS’ NOTE + </h2></div> + <p> + In 1882, it was felt to be desirable that Mr. Harte’s scattered work + should be brought together in convenient form, and the result was a + compact edition of five volumes. After that date, as before, he continued + to produce poems, tales, sketches, and romances in steady succession, and + in 1897 his publishers undertook a uniform and orderly presentation of the + results of more than thirty years of his literary activity. The fourteen + volumes that embodied those results were enriched by Introductions and a + Glossary prepared by Mr. Harte himself. + </p> + <p> + The present Riverside Edition is based on the collection made in 1897, but + is enlarged by the inclusion of later work. + </p> + <p> + Boston, 4 Park Street, Autumn, 1902. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0001"> PUBLISHERS’ NOTE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0002"> GENERAL INTRODUCTION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0003"> THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0004"> THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0005"> MIGGLES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0006"> TENNESSEE’S PARTNER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0007"> THE IDYL OF RED GULCH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0008"> BROWN OF CALAVERAS </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0009"> <b>MUCK-A-MUCK.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0016"> <b>SELINA SEDILIA.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0007"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0008"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0009"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0010"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0011"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0012"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0013"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0014"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0015"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0026"> <b>THE NINETY-NINE GUARDSMEN.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0016"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0017"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0018"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0030"> <b>MISS MIX.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0019"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0020"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0021"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0022"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0023"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0036"> <b>MR. MIDSHIPMAN BREEZY.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0024"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0025"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0026"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0027"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0028"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0029"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0030"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0044"> <b>GUY HEAVYSTONE; OR, “ENTIRE”.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0031"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0032"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0033"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0034"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0049"> <b>JOHN JENKINS.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0035"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0036"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0037"> CHAPTER III AND LAST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0053"> <b>FANTINE.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_PROL"> PROLOGUE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0055"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0056"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0057"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0058"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0059"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0060"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0061"> VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0062"> IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0063"> X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0064"> <b>“LA FEMME”.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0065"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0066"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0067"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0068"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0069"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0070"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0071"> <b>THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0072"> BOOK II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0073"> BOOK III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0074"> BOOK IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0075"> <b>N. N.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0076"> <b>NO TITLE.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_PROL2"> PROLOGUE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0038"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0039"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0040"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0041"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0042"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0043"> CHAPTER LAST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0084"> <b>HANDSOME IS AS HANDSOME DOES.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0044"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0045"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0046"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0047"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0048"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0049"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0050"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0051"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0052"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0053"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0054"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0096"> <b>LOTHAW.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0055"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0056"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0057"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0058"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0059"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0060"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0061"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0062"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0063"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0106"> <b>THE HAUNTED MAN.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_PART"> PART I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_PART2"> PART II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0109"> <b>TERENCE DENVILLE.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0064"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0065"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0112"> <b>MARY McGILLUP.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0066"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0067"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0068"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0069"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0070"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0071"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0120"> <b>THE HOODLUM BAND.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0072"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0073"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0074"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0075"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0076"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0126"> <b>M’LISS.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0077"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0078"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0079"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0080"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0081"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0082"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0083"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0084"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0085"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2HCH0086"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0137"> <b>HIGH-WATER MARK.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0138"> <b>A LONELY RIDE.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0139"> <b>THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_NOTE"> <b>NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_PART3"> PART I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_PART4"> PART II </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0143"> WAITING FOR THE SHIP </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0144"> A NIGHT AT WINGDAM </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0145"> THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0146"> THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0147"> THE LEGEND OF DEVIL’S POINT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0148"> THE ADVENTURE OF PADRE VICENTIO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0149"> THE DEVIL AND THE BROKER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0150"> THE OGRESS OF SILVER LAND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc2"> + <a href="#2H_4_0151"> THE CHRISTMAS GIFT THAT CAME TO RUPERT </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a id="2H_TOC"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + GENERAL INTRODUCTION + </h2></div> + <p> + The opportunity here offered [Footnote: By the appearance in England + several years ago of an edition of the author’s writings as then + collected.] to give some account of the genesis of these Californian + sketches, and the conditions under which they were conceived, is + peculiarly tempting to an author who has been obliged to retain a decent + professional reticence under a cloud of ingenious surmise, theory, and + misinterpretation. He very gladly seizes this opportunity to establish the + chronology of the sketches, and incidentally to show that what are + considered the “happy accidents” of literature are very apt to be the + results of quite logical and often prosaic processes. + </p> + <p> + The author’s <i>first</i> volume was published in 1865 in a thin book of + verse, containing, besides the titular poem, “The Lost Galleon,” various + patriotic contributions to the lyrics of the Civil War, then raging, and + certain better known humorous pieces, which have been hitherto + interspersed with his later poems in separate volumes, but are now + restored to their former companionship. This was followed in 1867 by “The + Condensed Novels,” originally contributed to the “San Francisco + Californian,” a journal then edited by the author, and a number of local + sketches entitled “Bohemian Papers,” making a single not very plethoric + volume, the author’s first book of prose. But he deems it worthy of + consideration that during this period, i.e. from 1862 to 1866, he produced + “The Society upon the Stanislaus” and “The Story of M’liss,”—the + first a dialectical poem, the second a Californian romance,—his + first efforts toward indicating a peculiarly characteristic Western + American literature. He would like to offer these facts as evidence of his + very early, half-boyish but very enthusiastic belief in such a + possibility,—a belief which never deserted him, and which, a few + years later, from the better-known pages of “The Overland Monthly,” he was + able to demonstrate to a larger and more cosmopolitan audience in the + story of “The Luck of Roaring Camp” and the poem of the “Heathen Chinee.” + But it was one of the anomalies of the very condition of life that he + worked amidst, and endeavored to portray, that these first efforts were + rewarded by very little success; and, as he will presently show, even “The + Luck of Roaring Camp” depended for its recognition in California upon its + success elsewhere. Hence the critical reader will observe that the bulk of + these earlier efforts, as shown in the first two volumes, were marked by + very little flavor of the soil, but were addressed to an audience half + foreign in their sympathies, and still imbued with Eastern or New England + habits and literary traditions. “Home” was still potent with these + voluntary exiles in their moments of relaxation. Eastern magazines and + current Eastern literature formed their literary recreation, and the sale + of the better class of periodicals was singularly great. Nor was the taste + confined to American literature. The illustrated and satirical English + journals were as frequently seen in California as in Massachusetts; and + the author records that he has experienced more difficulty in procuring a + copy of “Punch” in an English provincial town than was his fortune at “Red + Dog” or “One-Horse Gulch.” An audience thus liberally equipped and + familiar with the best modern writers was naturally critical and exacting, + and no one appreciates more than he does the salutary effects of this + severe discipline upon his earlier efforts. + </p> + <p> + When the first number of “The Overland Monthly” appeared, the author, then + its editor, called the publisher’s attention to the lack of any + distinctive Californian romance in its pages, and averred that, should no + other contribution come in, he himself would supply the omission in the + next number. No other contribution was offered, and the author, having the + plot and general idea already in his mind, in a few days sent the + manuscript of “The Luck of Roaring Camp” to the printer. He had not yet + received the proof-sheets when he was suddenly summoned to the office of + the publisher, whom he found standing the picture of dismay and anxiety + with the proof before him. The indignation and stupefaction of the author + can be well understood when he was told that the printer, instead of + returning the proofs to him, submitted them to the publisher, with the + emphatic declaration that the matter thereof was so indecent, irreligious, + and improper that his proof-reader—a young lady—had with + difficulty been induced to continue its perusal, and that he, as a friend + of the publisher and a well-wisher of the magazine, was impelled to + present to him personally this shameless evidence of the manner in which + the editor was imperilling the future of that enterprise. It should be + premised that the critic was a man of character and standing, the head of + a large printing establishment, a church member, and, the author thinks, a + deacon. In which circumstances the publisher frankly admitted to the + author that, while he could not agree with all of the printer’s + criticisms, he thought the story open to grave objection, and its + publication of doubtful expediency. + </p> + <p> + Believing only that he was the victim of some extraordinary typographical + blunder, the author at once sat down and read the proof. In its new dress, + with the metamorphosis of type,—that metamorphosis which every + writer so well knows changes his relations to it and makes it no longer + seem a part of himself,—he was able to read it with something of the + freshness of an untold tale. As he read on he found himself affected, even + as he had been affected in the conception and writing of it—a + feeling so incompatible with the charges against it, that he could only + lay it down and declare emphatically, albeit hopelessly, that he could + really see nothing objectionable in it. Other opinions were sought and + given. To the author’s surprise, he found himself in the minority. + Finally, the story was submitted to three gentlemen of culture and + experience, friends of publisher and author,—who were unable, + however, to come to any clear decision. It was, however, suggested to the + author that, assuming the natural hypothesis that his editorial reasoning + might be warped by his literary predilections in a consideration of one of + his own productions, a personal sacrifice would at this juncture be in the + last degree heroic. This last suggestion had the effect of ending all + further discussion, for he at once informed the publisher that the + question of the propriety of the story was no longer at issue: the only + question was of his capacity to exercise the proper editorial judgment; + and that unless he was permitted to test that capacity by the publication + of the story, and abide squarely by the result, he must resign his + editorial position. The publisher, possibly struck with the author’s + confidence, possibly from kindliness of disposition to a younger man, + yielded, and “The Luck of Roaring Camp” was published in the current + number of the magazine for which it was written, as it was written, + without emendation, omission, alteration, or apology. A not inconsiderable + part of the grotesqueness of the situation was the feeling, which the + author retained throughout the whole affair, of the perfect sincerity, + good faith, and seriousness of his friend’s—the printer’s—objection, + and for many days thereafter he was haunted by a consideration of the + sufferings of this conscientious man, obliged to assist materially in + disseminating the dangerous and subversive doctrines contained in this + baleful fiction. What solemn protests must have been laid with the ink on + the rollers and impressed upon those wicked sheets! what pious warnings + must have been secretly folded and stitched in that number of “The + Overland Monthly”! Across the chasm of years and distance the author + stretches forth the hand of sympathy and forgiveness, not forgetting the + gentle proof-reader, that chaste and unknown nymph, whose mantling cheeks + and downcast eyes gave the first indications of warning. + </p> + <p> + But the troubles of the “Luck” were far from ended. It had secured an + entrance into the world, but, like its own hero, it was born with an evil + reputation, and to a community that had yet to learn to love it. The + secular press, with one or two exceptions, received it coolly, and + referred to its “singularity;” the religious press frantically + excommunicated it, and anathematized it as the offspring of evil; the high + promise of “The Overland Monthly” was said to have been ruined by its + birth; Christians were cautioned against pollution by its contact; + practical business men were gravely urged to condemn and frown upon this + picture of Californian society that was not conducive to Eastern + immigration; its hapless author was held up to obloquy as a man who had + abused a sacred trust. If its life and reputation had depended on its + reception in California, this edition and explanation would alike have + been needless. But, fortunately, the young “Overland Monthly” had in its + first number secured a hearing and position throughout the American Union, + and the author waited the larger verdict. The publisher, albeit his worst + fears were confirmed, was not a man to weakly regret a position he had + once taken, and waited also. The return mail from the East brought a + letter addressed to the “Editor of the ‘Overland Monthly,’” enclosing a + letter from Fields, Osgood & Co., the publishers of “The Atlantic + Monthly,” addressed to the—to them—unknown “Author of ‘The + Luck of Roaring Camp.’” This the author opened, and found to be a request, + upon the most flattering terms, for a story for the “Atlantic” similar to + the “Luck.” The same mail brought newspapers and reviews welcoming the + little foundling of Californian literature with an enthusiasm that half + frightened its author; but with the placing of that letter in the hands of + the publisher, who chanced to be standing by his side, and who during + those dark days had, without the author’s faith, sustained the author’s + position, he felt that his compensation was full and complete. + </p> + <p> + Thus encouraged, “The Luck of Roaring Camp” was followed by “The Outcasts + of Poker Flat,” “Miggles,” “Tennessee’s Partner,” and those various other + characters who had impressed the author when, a mere truant schoolboy, he + had lived among them. It is hardly necessary to say to any observer of + human nature that at this time he was advised by kind and well-meaning + friends to content himself with the success of the “Luck,” and not tempt + criticism again; or that from that moment ever after he was in receipt of + that equally sincere contemporaneous criticism which assured him gravely + that each successive story was a falling off from the last. Howbeit, by + reinvigorated confidence in himself and some conscientious industry, he + managed to get together in a year six or eight of these sketches, which, + in a volume called “The Luck of Roaring Camp and Other Sketches,” gave him + that encouragement in America and England that has since seemed to justify + him in swelling these records of a picturesque passing civilization into + the compass of the present edition. + </p> + <p> + A few words regarding the peculiar conditions of life and society that are + here rudely sketched, and often but barely outlined. The author is aware + that, partly from a habit of thought and expression, partly from the + exigencies of brevity in his narratives, and partly from the habit of + addressing an audience familiar with the local scenery, he often assumes, + as premises already granted by the reader, the existence of a peculiar and + romantic state of civilization, the like of which few English readers are + inclined to accept without corroborative facts and figures. These he could + only give by referring to the ephemeral records of Californian journals of + that date, and the testimony of far-scattered witnesses, survivors of the + exodus of 1849. He must beg the reader to bear in mind that this + emigration was either across a continent almost unexplored, or by the way + of a long and dangerous voyage around Cape Horn, and that the promised + land itself presented the singular spectacle of a patriarchal Latin race + who had been left to themselves, forgotten by the world, for nearly three + hundred years. The faith, courage, vigor, youth, and capacity for + adventure necessary to this emigration produced a body of men as strongly + distinctive as the companions of Jason. Unlike most pioneers, the majority + were men of profession and education; all were young, and all had staked + their future in the enterprise. Critics who have taken large and + exhaustive views of mankind and society from club windows in Pall Mall or + the Fifth Avenue can only accept for granted the turbulent chivalry that + thronged the streets of San Francisco in the gala days of her youth, and + must read the blazon of their deeds like the doubtful quarterings of the + shield of Amadis de Gaul. The author has been frequently asked if such and + such incidents were real,—if he had ever met such and such + characters. To this he must return the one answer, that in only a single + instance was he conscious of drawing purely from his imagination and fancy + for a character and a logical succession of incidents drawn therefrom. A + few weeks after his story was published, he received a letter, + authentically signed, <i>correcting some of the minor details of his facts</i> + (!), and enclosing as corroborative evidence a slip from an old newspaper, + wherein the main incident of his supposed fanciful creation was recorded + with a largeness of statement that far transcended his powers of + imagination. + </p> + <p> + He has been repeatedly cautioned, kindly and unkindly, intelligently and + unintelligently, against his alleged tendency to confuse recognized + standards of morality by extenuating lives of recklessness, and often + criminality, with a single solitary virtue. He might easily show that he + has never written a sermon, that he has never moralized or commented upon + the actions of his heroes, that he has never voiced a creed or obtrusively + demonstrated an ethical opinion. He might easily allege that this merciful + effect of his art arose from the reader’s weak human sympathies, and hold + himself irresponsible. But he would be conscious of a more miserable + weakness in thus divorcing himself from his fellow-men who in the domain + of art must ever walk hand in hand with him. So he prefers to say that, of + all the various forms in which Cant presents itself to suffering humanity, + he knows of none so outrageous, so illogical, so undemonstrable, so + marvelously absurd, as the Cant of “Too Much Mercy.” When it shall be + proven to him that communities are degraded and brought to guilt and + crime, suffering or destitution, from a predominance of this quality; when + he shall see pardoned ticket-of-leave men elbowing men of austere lives + out of situation and position, and the repentant Magdalen supplanting the + blameless virgin in society,—then he will lay aside his pen and + extend his hand to the new Draconian discipline in fiction. But until then + he will, without claiming to be a religious man or a moralist, but simply + as an artist, reverently and humbly conform to the rules laid down by a + Great Poet who created the parable of the “Prodigal Son” and the “Good + Samaritan,” whose works have lasted eighteen hundred years, and will + remain when the present writer and his generation are forgotten. And he is + conscious of uttering no original doctrine in this, but of only voicing + the beliefs of a few of his literary brethren happily living, and one + gloriously dead, who never made proclamation of this “from the housetops.” + </p> + <hr /> +<div class='pre'> + THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP, AND + + OTHER STORIES AND SKETCHES +</div> + <hr /> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP + </h2></div> + <p> + There was commotion in Roaring Camp. It could not have been a fight, for + in 1850 that was not novel enough to have called together the entire + settlement. The ditches and claims were not only deserted, but “Tuttle’s + grocery” had contributed its gamblers, who, it will be remembered, calmly + continued their game the day that French Pete and Kanaka Joe shot each + other to death over the bar in the front room. The whole camp was + collected before a rude cabin on the outer edge of the clearing. + Conversation was carried on in a low tone, but the name of a woman was + frequently repeated. It was a name familiar enough in the camp,—“Cherokee + Sal.” + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the less said of her the better. She was a coarse and, it is to be + feared, a very sinful woman. But at that time she was the only woman in + Roaring Camp, and was just then lying in sore extremity, when she most + needed the ministration of her own sex. Dissolute, abandoned, and + irreclaimable, she was yet suffering a martyrdom hard enough to bear even + when veiled by sympathizing womanhood, but now terrible in her loneliness. + The primal curse had come to her in that original isolation which must + have made the punishment of the first transgression so dreadful. It was, + perhaps, part of the expiation of her sin that, at a moment when she most + lacked her sex’s intuitive tenderness and care, she met only the + half-contemptuous faces of her masculine associates. Yet a few of the + spectators were, I think, touched by her sufferings. Sandy Tipton thought + it was “rough on Sal,” and, in the contemplation of her condition, for a + moment rose superior to the fact that he had an ace and two bowers in his + sleeve. + </p> + <p> + It will be seen also that the situation was novel. Deaths were by no means + uncommon in Roaring Camp, but a birth was a new thing. People had been + dismissed the camp effectively, finally, and with no possibility of + return; but this was the first time that anybody had been introduced <i>ab + initio</i>. Hence the excitement. + </p> + <p> + “You go in there, Stumpy,” said a prominent citizen known as “Kentuck,” + addressing one of the loungers. “Go in there, and see what you kin do. + You’ve had experience in them things.” + </p> + <p> + Perhaps there was a fitness in the selection. Stumpy, in other climes, had + been the putative head of two families; in fact, it was owing to some + legal informality in these proceedings that Roaring Camp—a city of + refuge—was indebted to his company. The crowd approved the choice, + and Stumpy was wise enough to bow to the majority. The door closed on the + extempore surgeon and midwife, and Roaring Camp sat down outside, smoked + its pipe, and awaited the issue. + </p> + <p> + The assemblage numbered about a hundred men. One or two of these were + actual fugitives from justice, some were criminal, and all were reckless. + Physically they exhibited no indication of their past lives and character. + The greatest scamp had a Raphael face, with a profusion of blonde hair; + Oakhurst, a gambler, had the melancholy air and intellectual abstraction + of a Hamlet; the coolest and most courageous man was scarcely over five + feet in height, with a soft voice and an embarrassed, timid manner. The + term “roughs” applied to them was a distinction rather than a definition. + Perhaps in the minor details of fingers, toes, ears, etc., the camp may + have been deficient, but these slight omissions did not detract from their + aggregate force. The strongest man had but three fingers on his right + hand; the best shot had but one eye. + </p> + <p> + Such was the physical aspect of the men that were dispersed around the + cabin. The camp lay in a triangular valley between two hills and a river. + The only outlet was a steep trail over the summit of a hill that faced the + cabin, now illuminated by the rising moon. The suffering woman might have + seen it from the rude bunk whereon she lay,—seen it winding like a + silver thread until it was lost in the stars above. + </p> + <p> + A fire of withered pine boughs added sociability to the gathering. By + degrees the natural levity of Roaring Camp returned. Bets were freely + offered and taken regarding the result. Three to five that “Sal would get + through with it;” even that the child would survive; side bets as to the + sex and complexion of the coming stranger. In the midst of an excited + discussion an exclamation came from those nearest the door, and the camp + stopped to listen. Above the swaying and moaning of the pines, the swift + rush of the river, and the crackling of the fire rose a sharp, querulous + cry,—a cry unlike anything heard before in the camp. The pines + stopped moaning, the river ceased to rush, and the fire to crackle. It + seemed as if Nature had stopped to listen too. + </p> + <p> + The camp rose to its feet as one man! It was proposed to explode a barrel + of gunpowder; but in consideration of the situation of the mother, better + counsels prevailed, and only a few revolvers were discharged; for whether + owing to the rude surgery of the camp, or some other reason, Cherokee Sal + was sinking fast. Within an hour she had climbed, as it were, that rugged + road that led to the stars, and so passed out of Roaring Camp, its sin and + shame, forever. I do not think that the announcement disturbed them much, + except in speculation as to the fate of the child. “Can he live now?” was + asked of Stumpy. The answer was doubtful. The only other being of Cherokee + Sal’s sex and maternal condition in the settlement was an ass. There was + some conjecture as to fitness, but the experiment was tried. It was less + problematical than the ancient treatment of Romulus and Remus, and + apparently as successful. + </p> + <p> + When these details were completed, which exhausted another hour, the door + was opened, and the anxious crowd of men, who had already formed + themselves into a queue, entered in single file. Beside the low bunk or + shelf, on which the figure of the mother was starkly outlined below the + blankets, stood a pine table. On this a candle-box was placed, and within + it, swathed in staring red flannel, lay the last arrival at Roaring Camp. + Beside the candle-box was placed a hat. Its use was soon indicated. + “Gentlemen,” said Stumpy, with a singular mixture of authority and <i>ex + officio</i> complacency,—“gentlemen will please pass in at the front + door, round the table, and out at the back door. Them as wishes to + contribute anything toward the orphan will find a hat handy.” The first + man entered with his hat on; he uncovered, however, as he looked about + him, and so unconsciously set an example to the next. In such communities + good and bad actions are catching. As the procession filed in comments + were audible,—criticisms addressed perhaps rather to Stumpy in the + character of showman: “Is that him?” “Mighty small specimen;” “Hasn’t + more’n got the color;” “Ain’t bigger nor a derringer.” The contributions + were as characteristic: A silver tobacco box; a doubloon; a navy revolver, + silver mounted; a gold specimen; a very beautifully embroidered lady’s + handkerchief (from Oakhurst the gambler); a diamond breastpin; a diamond + ring (suggested by the pin, with the remark from the giver that he “saw + that pin and went two diamonds better”); a slung-shot; a Bible + (contributor not detected); a golden spur; a silver teaspoon (the + initials, I regret to say, were not the giver’s); a pair of surgeon’s + shears; a lancet; a Bank of England note for £5; and about $200 in loose + gold and silver coin. During these proceedings Stumpy maintained a silence + as impassive as the dead on his left, a gravity as inscrutable as that of + the newly born on his right. Only one incident occurred to break the + monotony of the curious procession. As Kentuck bent over the candle-box + half curiously, the child turned, and, in a spasm of pain, caught at his + groping finger, and held it fast for a moment. Kentuck looked foolish and + embarrassed. Something like a blush tried to assert itself in his + weather-beaten cheek. “The d—d little cuss!” he said, as he + extricated his finger, with perhaps more tenderness and care than he might + have been deemed capable of showing. He held that finger a little apart + from its fellows as he went out, and examined it curiously. The + examination provoked the same original remark in regard to the child. In + fact, he seemed to enjoy repeating it. “He rastled with my finger,” he + remarked to Tipton, holding up the member, “the d—d little cuss!” + </p> + <p> + It was four o’clock before the camp sought repose. A light burnt in the + cabin where the watchers sat, for Stumpy did not go to bed that night. Nor + did Kentuck. He drank quite freely, and related with great gusto his + experience, invariably ending with his characteristic condemnation of the + newcomer. It seemed to relieve him of any unjust implication of sentiment, + and Kentuck had the weaknesses of the nobler sex. When everybody else had + gone to bed, he walked down to the river and whistled reflectingly. Then + he walked up the gulch past the cabin, still whistling with demonstrative + unconcern. At a large redwood-tree he paused and retraced his steps, and + again passed the cabin. Halfway down to the river’s bank he again paused, + and then returned and knocked at the door. It was opened by Stumpy. “How + goes it?” said Kentuck, looking past Stumpy toward the candle-box. “All + serene!” replied Stumpy. “Anything up?” “Nothing.” There was a pause—an + embarrassing one—Stumpy still holding the door. Then Kentuck had + recourse to his finger, which he held up to Stumpy. “Rastled with it,—the + d—d little cuss,” he said, and retired. + </p> + <p> + The next day Cherokee Sal had such rude sepulture as Roaring Camp + afforded. After her body had been committed to the hillside, there was a + formal meeting of the camp to discuss what should be done with her infant. + A resolution to adopt it was unanimous and enthusiastic. But an animated + discussion in regard to the manner and feasibility of providing for its + wants at once sprang up. It was remarkable that the argument partook of + none of those fierce personalities with which discussions were usually + conducted at Roaring Camp. Tipton proposed that they should send the child + to Red Dog,—a distance of forty miles,—where female attention + could be procured. But the unlucky suggestion met with fierce and + unanimous opposition. It was evident that no plan which entailed parting + from their new acquisition would for a moment be entertained. “Besides,” + said Tom Ryder, “them fellows at Red Dog would swap it, and ring in + somebody else on us.” A disbelief in the honesty of other camps prevailed + at Roaring Camp, as in other places. + </p> + <p> + The introduction of a female nurse in the camp also met with objection. It + was argued that no decent woman could be prevailed to accept Roaring Camp + as her home, and the speaker urged that “they didn’t want any more of the + other kind.” This unkind allusion to the defunct mother, harsh as it may + seem, was the first spasm of propriety,—the first symptom of the + camp’s regeneration. Stumpy advanced nothing. Perhaps he felt a certain + delicacy in interfering with the selection of a possible successor in + office. But when questioned, he averred stoutly that he and “Jinny”—the + mammal before alluded to—could manage to rear the child. There was + something original, independent, and heroic about the plan that pleased + the camp. Stumpy was retained. Certain articles were sent for to + Sacramento. “Mind,” said the treasurer, as he pressed a bag of gold-dust + into the expressman’s hand, “the best that can be got,—lace, you + know, and filigree-work and frills,—d—n the cost!” Strange to + say, the child thrived. Perhaps the invigorating climate of the mountain + camp was compensation for material deficiencies. Nature took the foundling + to her broader breast. In that rare atmosphere of the Sierra foothills,—that + air pungent with balsamic odor, that ethereal cordial at once bracing and + exhilarating,—he may have found food and nourishment, or a subtle + chemistry that transmuted ass’s milk to lime and phosphorus. Stumpy + inclined to the belief that it was the latter and good nursing. “Me and + that ass,” he would say, “has been father and mother to him! Don’t you,” + he would add, apostrophizing the helpless bundle before him, “never go + back on us.” + </p> + <p> + By the time he was a month old the necessity of giving him a name became + apparent. He had generally been known as “The Kid,” “Stumpy’s Boy,” “The + Coyote” (an allusion to his vocal powers), and even by Kentuck’s endearing + diminutive of “The d—d little cuss.” But these were felt to be vague + and unsatisfactory, and were at last dismissed under another influence. + Gamblers and adventurers are generally superstitious, and Oakhurst one day + declared that the baby had brought “the luck” to Roaring Camp. It was + certain that of late they had been successful. “Luck” was the name agreed + upon, with the prefix of Tommy for greater convenience. No allusion was + made to the mother, and the father was unknown. “It’s better,” said the + philosophical Oakhurst, “to take a fresh deal all round. Call him Luck, + and start him fair.” A day was accordingly set apart for the christening. + What was meant by this ceremony the reader may imagine who has already + gathered some idea of the reckless irreverence of Roaring Camp. The master + of ceremonies was one “Boston,” a noted wag, and the occasion seemed to + promise the greatest facetiousness. This ingenious satirist had spent two + days in preparing a burlesque of the Church service, with pointed local + allusions. The choir was properly trained, and Sandy Tipton was to stand + godfather. But after the procession had marched to the grove with music + and banners, and the child had been deposited before a mock altar, Stumpy + stepped before the expectant crowd. “It ain’t my style to spoil fun, + boys,” said the little man, stoutly eying the faces around him, “but it + strikes me that this thing ain’t exactly on the squar. It’s playing it + pretty low down on this yer baby to ring in fun on him that he ain’t goin’ + to understand. And ef there’s goin’ to be any godfathers round, I’d like + to see who’s got any better rights than me.” A silence followed Stumpy’s + speech. To the credit of all humorists be it said that the first man to + acknowledge its justice was the satirist thus stopped of his fun. “But,” + said Stumpy, quickly following up his advantage, “we’re here for a + christening, and we’ll have it. I proclaim you Thomas Luck, according to + the laws of the United States and the State of California, so help me + God.” It was the first time that the name of the Deity had been otherwise + uttered than profanely in the camp. The form of christening was perhaps + even more ludicrous than the satirist had conceived; but strangely enough, + nobody saw it and nobody laughed. “Tommy” was christened as seriously as + he would have been under a Christian roof, and cried and was comforted in + as orthodox fashion. + </p> + <p> + And so the work of regeneration began in Roaring Camp. Almost + imperceptibly a change came over the settlement. The cabin assigned to + “Tommy Luck”—or “The Luck,” as he was more frequently called—first + showed signs of improvement. It was kept scrupulously clean and + whitewashed. Then it was boarded, clothed, and papered. The rosewood, + cradle, packed eighty miles by mule, had, in Stumpy’s way of putting it, + “sorter killed the rest of the furniture.” So the rehabilitation of the + cabin became a necessity. The men who were in the habit of lounging in at + Stumpy’s to see “how ‘The Luck’ got on” seemed to appreciate the change, + and in self-defense the rival establishment of “Tuttle’s grocery” + bestirred itself and imported a carpet and mirrors. The reflections of the + latter on the appearance of Roaring Camp tended to produce stricter habits + of personal cleanliness. Again Stumpy imposed a kind of quarantine upon + those who aspired to the honor and privilege of holding The Luck. It was a + cruel mortification to Kentuck—who, in the carelessness of a large + nature and the habits of frontier life, had begun to regard all garments + as a second cuticle, which, like a snake’s, only sloughed off through + decay—to be debarred this privilege from certain prudential reasons. + Yet such was the subtle influence of innovation that he thereafter + appeared regularly every afternoon in a clean shirt and face still shining + from his ablutions. Nor were moral and social sanitary laws neglected. + “Tommy,” who was supposed to spend his whole existence in a persistent + attempt to repose, must not be disturbed by noise. The shouting and + yelling, which had gained the camp its infelicitous title, were not + permitted within hearing distance of Stumpy’s. The men conversed in + whispers or smoked with Indian gravity. Profanity was tacitly given up in + these sacred precincts, and throughout the camp a popular form of + expletive, known as “D—n the luck!” and “Curse the luck!” was + abandoned, as having a new personal bearing. Vocal music was not + interdicted, being supposed to have a soothing, tranquilizing quality; and + one song, sung by “Man-o’-War Jack,” an English sailor from her Majesty’s + Australian colonies, was quite popular as a lullaby. It was a lugubrious + recital of the exploits of “the Arethusa, Seventy-four,” in a muffled + minor, ending with a prolonged dying fall at the burden of each verse, “On + b-oo-o-ard of the Arethusa.” It was a fine sight to see Jack holding The + Luck, rocking from side to side as if with the motion of a ship, and + crooning forth this naval ditty. Either through the peculiar rocking of + Jack or the length of his song,—it contained ninety stanzas, and was + continued with conscientious deliberation to the bitter end,—the + lullaby generally had the desired effect. At such times the men would lie + at full length under the trees in the soft summer twilight, smoking their + pipes and drinking in the melodious utterances. An indistinct idea that + this was pastoral happiness pervaded the camp. “This ’ere kind o’ think,” + said the Cockney Simmons, meditatively reclining on his elbow, “is + ’evingly.” It reminded him of Greenwich. + </p> + <p> + On the long summer days The Luck was usually carried to the gulch from + whence the golden store of Roaring Camp was taken. There, on a blanket + spread over pine boughs, he would lie while the men were working in the + ditches below. Latterly there was a rude attempt to decorate this bower + with flowers and sweet-smelling shrubs, and generally some one would bring + him a cluster of wild honeysuckles, azaleas, or the painted blossoms of + Las Mariposas. The men had suddenly awakened to the fact that there were + beauty and significance in these trifles, which they had so long trodden + carelessly beneath their feet. A flake of glittering mica, a fragment of + variegated quartz, a bright pebble from the bed of the creek, became + beautiful to eyes thus cleared and strengthened, and were invariably put + aside for The Luck. It was wonderful how many treasures the woods and + hillsides yielded that “would do for Tommy.” Surrounded by playthings such + as never child out of fairyland had before, it is to be hoped that Tommy + was content. He appeared to be serenely happy, albeit there was an + infantine gravity about him, a contemplative light in his round gray eyes, + that sometimes worried Stumpy. He was always tractable and quiet, and it + is recorded that once, having crept beyond his “corral,”—a hedge of + tessellated pine boughs, which surrounded his bed,—he dropped over + the bank on his head in the soft earth, and remained with his mottled legs + in the air in that position for at least five minutes with unflinching + gravity. He was extricated without a murmur. I hesitate to record the many + other instances of his sagacity, which rest, unfortunately, upon the + statements of prejudiced friends. Some of them were not without a tinge of + superstition. “I crep’ up the bank just now,” said Kentuck one day, in a + breathless state of excitement, “and dern my skin if he wasn’t a-talking + to a jaybird as was a-sittin’ on his lap. There they was, just as free and + sociable as anything you please, a-jawin’ at each other just like two + cherrybums.” Howbeit, whether creeping over the pine boughs or lying + lazily on his back blinking at the leaves above him, to him the birds + sang, the squirrels chattered, and the flowers bloomed. Nature was his + nurse and playfellow. For him she would let slip between the leaves golden + shafts of sunlight that fell just within his grasp; she would send + wandering breezes to visit him with the balm of bay and resinous gum; to + him the tall redwoods nodded familiarly and sleepily, the bumblebees + buzzed, and the rooks cawed a slumberous accompaniment. + </p> + <p> + Such was the golden summer of Roaring Camp. They were “flush times,” and + the luck was with them. The claims had yielded enormously. The camp was + jealous of its privileges and looked suspiciously on strangers. No + encouragement was given to immigration, and, to make their seclusion more + perfect, the land on either side of the mountain wall that surrounded the + camp they duly preempted. This, and a reputation for singular proficiency + with the revolver, kept the reserve of Roaring Camp inviolate. The + expressman—their only connecting link with the surrounding world—sometimes + told wonderful stories of the camp. He would say, “They’ve a street up + there in ‘Roaring’ that would lay over any street in Red Dog. They’ve got + vines and flowers round their houses, and they wash themselves twice a + day. But they’re mighty rough on strangers, and they worship an Ingin + baby.” + </p> + <p> + With the prosperity of the camp came a desire for further improvement. It + was proposed to build a hotel in the following spring, and to invite one + or two decent families to reside there for the sake of The Luck, who might + perhaps profit by female companionship. The sacrifice that this concession + to the sex cost these men, who were fiercely skeptical in regard to its + general virtue and usefulness, can only be accounted for by their + affection for Tommy. A few still held out. But the resolve could not be + carried into effect for three months, and the minority meekly yielded in + the hope that something might turn up to prevent it. And it did. + </p> + <p> + The winter of 1851 will long be remembered in the foothills. The snow lay + deep on the Sierras, and every mountain creek became a river, and every + river a lake. Each gorge and gulch was transformed into a tumultuous + watercourse that descended the hillsides, tearing down giant trees and + scattering its drift and debris along the plain. Red Dog had been twice + under water, and Roaring Camp had been forewarned. “Water put the gold + into them gulches,” said Stumpy. “It’s been here once and will be here + again!” And that night the North Fork suddenly leaped over its banks and + swept up the triangular valley of Roaring Camp. + </p> + <p> + In the confusion of rushing water, crashing trees, and crackling timber, + and the darkness which seemed to flow with the water and blot out the fair + valley, but little could be done to collect the scattered camp. When the + morning broke, the cabin of Stumpy, nearest the river-bank, was gone. + Higher up the gulch they found the body of its unlucky owner; but the + pride, the hope, the joy, The Luck, of Roaring Camp had disappeared. They + were returning with sad hearts when a shout from the bank recalled them. + </p> + <p> + It was a relief-boat from down the river. They had picked up, they said, a + man and an infant, nearly exhausted, about two miles below. Did anybody + know them, and did they belong here? + </p> + <p> + It needed but a glance to show them Kentuck lying there, cruelly crushed + and bruised, but still holding The Luck of Roaring Camp in his arms. As + they bent over the strangely assorted pair, they saw that the child was + cold and pulseless. “He is dead,” said one. Kentuck opened his eyes. + “Dead?” he repeated feebly. “Yes, my man, and you are dying too.” A smile + lit the eyes of the expiring Kentuck. “Dying!” he repeated; “he’s a-taking + me with him. Tell the boys I’ve got The Luck with me now;” and the strong + man, clinging to the frail babe as a drowning man is said to cling to a + straw, drifted away into the shadowy river that flows forever to the + unknown sea. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT + </h2></div> + <p> + As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of Poker Flat + on the morning of the 23d of November, 1850, he was conscious of a change + in its moral atmosphere since the preceding night. Two or three men, + conversing earnestly together, ceased as he approached, and exchanged + significant glances. There was a Sabbath lull in the air, which, in a + settlement unused to Sabbath influences, looked ominous. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Oakhurst’s calm, handsome face betrayed small concern in these + indications. Whether he was conscious of any predisposing cause was + another question. “I reckon they’re after somebody,” he reflected; “likely + it’s me.” He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with which he had + been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his neat boots, and + quietly discharged his mind of any further conjecture. + </p> + <p> + In point of fact, Poker Flat was “after somebody.” It had lately suffered + the loss of several thousand dollars, two valuable horses, and a prominent + citizen. It was experiencing a spasm of virtuous reaction, quite as + lawless and ungovernable as any of the acts that had provoked it. A secret + committee had determined to rid the town of all improper persons. This was + done permanently in regard of two men who were then hanging from the + boughs of a sycamore in the gulch, and temporarily in the banishment of + certain other objectionable characters. I regret to say that some of these + were ladies. It is but due to the sex, however, to state that their + impropriety was professional, and it was only in such easily established + standards of evil that Poker Flat ventured to sit in judgment. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Oakhurst was right in supposing that he was included in this category. + A few of the committee had urged hanging him as a possible example and a + sure method of reimbursing themselves from his pockets of the sums he had + won from them. “It’s agin justice,” said Jim Wheeler, “to let this yer + young man from Roaring Camp—an entire stranger—carry away our + money.” But a crude sentiment of equity residing in the breasts of those + who had been fortunate enough to win from Mr. Oakhurst overruled this + narrower local prejudice. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Oakhurst received his sentence with philosophic calmness, none the + less coolly that he was aware of the hesitation of his judges. He was too + much of a gambler not to accept fate. With him life was at best an + uncertain game, and he recognized the usual percentage in favor of the + dealer. + </p> + <p> + A body of armed men accompanied the deported wickedness of Poker Flat to + the outskirts of the settlement. Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who was known to be + a coolly desperate man, and for whose intimidation the armed escort was + intended, the expatriated party consisted of a young woman familiarly + known as “The Duchess;” another who had won the title of “Mother Shipton;” + and “Uncle Billy,” a suspected, sluice-robber and confirmed drunkard. The + cavalcade provoked no comments from the spectators, nor was any word + uttered by the escort. Only when the gulch which marked the uttermost + limit of Poker Flat was reached, the leader spoke briefly and to the + point. The exiles were forbidden to return at the peril of their lives. + </p> + <p> + As the escort disappeared, their pent-up feelings found vent in a few + hysterical tears from the Duchess, some bad language from Mother Shipton, + and a Parthian volley of expletives from Uncle Billy. The philosophic + Oakhurst alone remained silent. He listened calmly to Mother Shipton’s + desire to cut somebody’s heart out, to the repeated statements of the + Duchess that she would die in the road, and to the alarming oaths that + seemed to be bumped out of Uncle Billy as he rode forward. With the easy + good humor characteristic of his class, he insisted upon exchanging his + own riding-horse, “Five-Spot,” for the sorry mule which the Duchess rode. + But even this act did not draw the party into any closer sympathy. The + young woman readjusted her somewhat draggled plumes with a feeble, faded + coquetry; Mother Shipton eyed the possessor of “Five-Spot” with + malevolence, and Uncle Billy included the whole party in one sweeping + anathema. + </p> + <p> + The road to Sandy Bar—a camp that, not having as yet experienced the + regenerating influences of Poker Flat, consequently seemed to offer some + invitation to the emigrants—lay over a steep mountain range. It was + distant a day’s severe travel. In that advanced season the party soon + passed out of the moist, temperate regions of the foothills into the dry, + cold, bracing air of the Sierras. The trail was narrow and difficult. At + noon the Duchess, rolling out of her saddle upon the ground, declared her + intention of going no farther, and the party halted. + </p> + <p> + The spot was singularly wild and impressive. A wooded amphitheatre, + surrounded on three sides by precipitous cliffs of naked granite, sloped + gently toward the crest of another precipice that overlooked the valley. + It was, undoubtedly, the most suitable spot for a camp, had camping been + advisable. But Mr. Oakhurst knew that scarcely half the journey to Sandy + Bar was accomplished, and the party were not equipped or provisioned for + delay. This fact he pointed out to his companions curtly, with a + philosophic commentary on the folly of “throwing up their hand before the + game was played out.” But they were furnished with liquor, which in this + emergency stood them in place of food, fuel, rest, and prescience. In + spite of his remonstrances, it was not long before they were more or less + under its influence. Uncle Billy passed rapidly from a bellicose state + into one of stupor, the Duchess became maudlin, and Mother Shipton snored. + Mr. Oakhurst alone remained erect, leaning against a rock, calmly + surveying them. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Oakhurst did not drink. It interfered with a profession which required + coolness, impassiveness, and presence of mind, and, in his own language, + he “couldn’t afford it.” As he gazed at his recumbent fellow exiles, the + loneliness begotten of his pariah trade, his habits of life, his very + vices, for the first time seriously oppressed him. He bestirred himself in + dusting his black clothes, washing his hands and face, and other acts + characteristic of his studiously neat habits, and for a moment forgot his + annoyance. The thought of deserting his weaker and more pitiable + companions never perhaps occurred to him. Yet he could not help feeling + the want of that excitement which, singularly enough, was most conducive + to that calm equanimity for which he was notorious. He looked at the + gloomy walls that rose a thousand feet sheer above the circling pines + around him, at the sky ominously clouded, at the valley below, already + deepening into shadow; and, doing so, suddenly he heard his own name + called. + </p> + <p> + A horseman slowly ascended the trail. In the fresh, open face of the + newcomer Mr. Oakhurst recognized Tom Simson, otherwise known as “The + Innocent,” of Sandy Bar. He had met him some months before over a “little + game,” and had, with perfect equanimity, won the entire fortune—amounting + to some forty dollars—of that guileless youth. After the game was + finished, Mr. Oakhurst drew the youthful speculator behind the door and + thus addressed him: “Tommy, you’re a good little man, but you can’t gamble + worth a cent. Don’t try it over again.” He then handed him his money hack, + pushed him gently from the room, and so made a devoted slave of Tom + Simson. + </p> + <p> + There was a remembrance of this in his boyish and enthusiastic greeting of + Mr. Oakhurst. He had started, he said, to go to Poker Flat to seek his + fortune. “Alone?” No, not exactly alone; in fact (a giggle), he had run + away with Piney Woods. Didn’t Mr. Oakhurst remember Piney? She that used + to wait on the table at the Temperance House? They had been engaged a long + time, but old Jake Woods had objected, and so they had run away, and were + going to Poker Flat to be married, and here they were. And they were tired + out, and how lucky it was they had found a place to camp, and company. All + this the Innocent delivered rapidly, while Piney, a stout, comely damsel + of fifteen, emerged from behind the pine-tree, where she had been blushing + unseen, and rode to the side of her lover. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Oakhurst seldom troubled himself with sentiment, still less with + propriety; but he had a vague idea that the situation was not fortunate. + He retained, however, his presence of mind sufficiently to kick Uncle + Billy, who was about to say something, and Uncle Billy was sober enough to + recognize in Mr. Oakhurst’s kick a superior power that would not bear + trifling. He then endeavored to dissuade Tom Simson from delaying further, + but in vain. He even pointed out the fact that there was no provision, nor + means of making a camp. But, unluckily, the Innocent met this objection by + assuring the party that he was provided with an extra mule loaded with + provisions, and by the discovery of a rude attempt at a log house near the + trail. “Piney can stay with Mrs. Oakhurst,” said the Innocent, pointing to + the Duchess, “and I can shift for myself.” + </p> + <p> + Nothing but Mr. Oakhurst’s admonishing foot saved Uncle Billy from + bursting into a roar of laughter. As it was, he felt compelled to retire + up the canon until he could recover his gravity. There he confided the + joke to the tall pine-trees, with many slaps of his leg, contortions of + his face, and the usual profanity. But when he returned to the party, he + found them seated by a fire—for the air had grown strangely chill + and the sky overcast—in apparently amicable conversation. Piney was + actually talking in an impulsive girlish fashion to the Duchess, who was + listening with an interest and animation she had not shown for many days. + The Innocent was holding forth, apparently with equal effect, to Mr. + Oakhurst and Mother Shipton, who was actually relaxing into amiability. + “Is this yer a d—d picnic?” said Uncle Billy, with inward scorn, as + he surveyed the sylvan group, the glancing firelight, and the tethered + animals in the foreground. Suddenly an idea mingled with the alcoholic + fumes that disturbed his brain. It was apparently of a jocular nature, for + he felt impelled to slap his leg again and cram his fist into his mouth. + </p> + <p> + As the shadows crept slowly up the mountain, a slight breeze rocked the + tops of the pine-trees and moaned through their long and gloomy aisles. + The ruined cabin, patched and covered with pine boughs, was set apart for + the ladies. As the lovers parted, they unaffectedly exchanged a kiss, so + honest and sincere that it might have been heard above the swaying pines. + The frail Duchess and the malevolent Mother Shipton were probably too + stunned to remark upon this last evidence of simplicity, and so turned + without a word to the hut. The fire was replenished, the men lay down + before the door, and in a few minutes were asleep. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Oakhurst was a light sleeper. Toward morning he awoke benumbed and + cold. As he stirred the dying fire, the wind, which was now blowing + strongly, brought to his cheek that which caused the blood to leave it,—snow! + </p> + <p> + He started to his feet with the intention of awakening the sleepers, for + there was no time to lose. But turning to where Uncle Billy had been + lying, he found him gone. A suspicion leaped to his brain, and a curse to + his lips. He ran to the spot where the mules had been tethered—they + were no longer there. The tracks were already rapidly disappearing in the + snow. + </p> + <p> + The momentary excitement brought Mr. Oakhurst back to the fire with his + usual calm. He did not waken the sleepers. The Innocent slumbered + peacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, freckled face; the virgin + Piney slept beside her frailer sisters as sweetly as though attended by + celestial guardians; and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing his blanket over his + shoulders, stroked his mustaches and waited for the dawn. It came slowly + in a whirling mist of snowflakes that dazzled and confused the eye. What + could be seen of the landscape appeared magically changed. He looked over + the valley, and summed up the present and future in two words, “Snowed + in!” + </p> + <p> + A careful inventory of the provisions, which, fortunately for the party, + had been stored within the hut, and so escaped the felonious fingers of + Uncle Billy, disclosed the fact that with care and prudence they might + last ten days longer. “That is,” said Mr. Oakhurst <i>sotto voce</i> to + the Innocent, “if you’re willing to board us. If you ain’t—and + perhaps you’d better not—you can wait till Uncle Billy gets back + with provisions.” For some occult reason, Mr. Oakhurst could not bring + himself to disclose Uncle Billy’s rascality, and so offered the hypothesis + that he had wandered from the camp and had accidentally stampeded the + animals. He dropped a warning to the Duchess and Mother Shipton, who of + course knew the facts of their associate’s defection. “They’ll find out + the truth about us <i>all</i> when they find out anything,” he added + significantly, “and there’s no good frightening them now.” + </p> + <p> + Tom Simson not only put all his worldly store at the disposal of Mr. + Oakhurst, but seemed to enjoy the prospect of their enforced seclusion. + “We’ll have a good camp for a week, and then the snow’ll melt, and we’ll + all go back together.” The cheerful gayety of the young man and Mr. + Oakhurst’s calm infected the others. The Innocent, with the aid of pine + boughs, extemporized a thatch for the roofless cabin, and the Duchess + directed Piney in the rearrangement of the interior with a taste and tact + that opened the blue eyes of that provincial maiden to their fullest + extent. “I reckon now you’re used to fine things at Poker Flat,” said + Piney. The Duchess turned away sharply to conceal something that reddened + her cheeks through their professional tint, and Mother Shipton requested + Piney not to “chatter.” But when Mr. Oakhurst returned from a weary search + for the trail, he heard the sound of happy laughter echoed from the rocks. + He stopped in some alarm, and his thoughts first naturally reverted to the + whiskey, which he had prudently cached. “And yet it don’t somehow sound + like whiskey,” said the gambler. It was not until he caught sight of the + blazing fire through the still blinding storm, and the group around it, + that he settled to the conviction that it was “square fun.” + </p> + <p> + Whether Mr. Oakhurst had cached his cards with the whiskey as something + debarred the free access of the community, I cannot say. It was certain + that, in Mother Shipton’s words, he “didn’t say ‘cards’ once” during that + evening. Haply the time was beguiled by an accordion, produced somewhat + ostentatiously by Tom Simson from his pack. Notwithstanding some + difficulties attending the manipulation of this instrument, Piney Woods + managed to pluck several reluctant melodies from its keys, to an + accompaniment by the Innocent on a pair of bone castanets. But the + crowning festivity of the evening was reached in a rude camp-meeting hymn, + which the lovers, joining hands, sang with great earnestness and + vociferation. I fear that a certain defiant tone and Covenanter’s swing to + its chorus, rather than any devotional quality, caused it speedily to + infect the others, who at last joined in the refrain:— + </p> +<div class='pre'> + “I’m proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I’m bound to die + in His army.” + </div> + <p> + The pines rocked, the storm eddied and whirled above the miserable group, + and the flames of their altar leaped heavenward, as if in token of the + vow. + </p> + <p> + At midnight the storm abated, the rolling clouds parted, and the stars + glittered keenly above the sleeping camp. Mr. Oakhurst, whose professional + habits had enabled him to live on the smallest possible amount of sleep, + in dividing the watch with Tom Simson somehow managed to take upon himself + the greater part of that duty. He excused himself to the Innocent by + saying that he had “often been a week without sleep.” “Doing what?” asked + Tom. “Poker!” replied Oakhurst sententiously. “When a man gets a streak of + luck,—nigger-luck,—he don’t get tired. The luck gives in + first. Luck,” continued the gambler reflectively, “is a mighty queer + thing. All you know about it for certain is that it’s bound to change. And + it’s finding out when it’s going to change that makes you. We’ve had a + streak of bad luck since we left Poker Flat,—you come along, and + slap you get into it, too. If you can hold your cards right along you’re + all right. For,” added the gambler, with cheerful irrelevance— + </p> +<div class='pre'> + “‘I’m proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I’m bound to die + in His army.’” + </div> + <p> + The third day came, and the sun, looking through the white-curtained + valley, saw the outcasts divide their slowly decreasing store of + provisions for the morning meal. It was one of the peculiarities of that + mountain climate that its rays diffused a kindly warmth over the wintry + landscape, as if in regretful commiseration of the past. But it revealed + drift on drift of snow piled high around the hut,—a hopeless, + uncharted, trackless sea of white lying below the rocky shores to which + the castaways still clung. Through the marvelously clear air the smoke of + the pastoral village of Poker Flat rose miles away. Mother Shipton saw it, + and from a remote pinnacle of her rocky fastness hurled in that direction + a final malediction. It was her last vituperative attempt, and perhaps for + that reason was invested with a certain degree of sublimity. It did her + good, she privately informed the Duchess. “Just you go out there and cuss, + and see.” She then set herself to the task of amusing “the child,” as she + and the Duchess were pleased to call Piney. Piney was no chicken, but it + was a soothing and original theory of the pair thus to account for the + fact that she didn’t swear and wasn’t improper. + </p> + <p> + When night crept up again through the gorges, the reedy notes of the + accordion rose and fell in fitful spasms and long-drawn gasps by the + flickering campfire. But music failed to fill entirely the aching void + left by insufficient food, and a new diversion was proposed by Piney,—story-telling. + Neither Mr. Oakhurst nor his female companions caring to relate their + personal experiences, this plan would have failed too, but for the + Innocent. Some months before he had chanced upon a stray copy of Mr. + Pope’s ingenious translation of the Iliad. He now proposed to narrate the + principal incidents of that poem—having thoroughly mastered the + argument and fairly forgotten the words—in the current vernacular of + Sandy Bar. And so for the rest of that night the Homeric demigods again + walked the earth. Trojan bully and wily Greek wrestled in the winds, and + the great pines in the canon seemed to bow to the wrath of the son of + Peleus. Mr. Oakhurst listened with quiet satisfaction. Most especially was + he interested in the fate of “Ash-heels,” as the Innocent persisted in + denominating the “swift-footed Achilles.” + </p> + <p> + So, with small food and much of Homer and the accordion, a week passed + over the heads of the outcasts. The sun again forsook them, and again from + leaden skies the snowflakes were sifted over the land. Day by day closer + around them drew the snowy circle, until at last they looked from their + prison over drifted walls of dazzling white, that towered twenty feet + above their heads. It became more and more difficult to replenish their + fires, even from the fallen trees beside them, now half hidden in the + drifts. And yet no one complained. The lovers turned from the dreary + prospect and looked into each other’s eyes, and were happy. Mr. Oakhurst + settled himself coolly to the losing game before him. The Duchess, more + cheerful than she had been, assumed the care of Piney. Only Mother Shipton—once + the strongest of the party—seemed to sicken and fade. At midnight on + the tenth day she called Oakhurst to her side. “I’m going,” she said, in a + voice of querulous weakness, “but don’t say anything about it. Don’t waken + the kids. Take the bundle from under my head, and open it.” Mr. Oakhurst + did so. It contained Mother Shipton’s rations for the last week, + untouched. “Give ’em to the child,” she said, pointing to the sleeping + Piney. “You’ve starved yourself,” said the gambler. “That’s what they call + it,” said the woman querulously, as she lay down again, and, turning her + face to the wall, passed quietly away. + </p> + <p> + The accordion and the bones were put aside that day, and Homer was + forgotten. When the body of Mother Shipton had been committed to the snow, + Mr. Oakhurst took the Innocent aside, and showed him a pair of snow-shoes, + which he had fashioned from the old pack-saddle. + </p> + <p> + “There’s one chance in a hundred to save her yet,” he said, pointing to + Piney; “but it’s there,” he added, pointing toward Poker Flat. “If you can + reach there in two days she’s safe.” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” asked Tom Simson. “I’ll stay here,” was the curt reply. The + lovers parted with a long embrace. + </p> + <p> + “You are not going, too?” said the Duchess, as she saw Mr. Oakhurst + apparently waiting to accompany him. “As far as the canon,” he replied. He + turned suddenly and kissed the Duchess, leaving her pallid face aflame, + and her trembling limbs rigid with amazement. + </p> + <p> + Night came, but not Mr. Oakhurst. It brought the storm again and the + whirling snow. Then the Duchess, feeding the fire, found that some one had + quietly piled beside the hut enough fuel to last a few days longer. The + tears rose to her eyes, but she hid them from Piney. + </p> + <p> + The women slept but little. In the morning, looking into each other’s + faces, they read their fate. Neither spoke, but Piney, accepting the + position of the stronger, drew near and placed her arm around the + Duchess’s waist. They kept this attitude for the rest of the day. That + night the storm reached its greatest fury, and, rending asunder the + protecting vines, invaded the very hut. + </p> + <p> + Toward morning they found themselves unable to feed the fire, which + gradually died away. As the embers slowly blackened, the Duchess crept + closer to Piney, and broke the silence of many hours: “Piney, can you + pray?” “No, dear,” said Piney simply. The Duchess, without knowing exactly + why, felt relieved, and, putting her head upon Piney’s shoulder, spoke no + more. And so reclining, the younger and purer pillowing the head of her + soiled sister upon her virgin breast, they fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + The wind lulled as if it feared to waken them. Feathery drifts of snow, + shaken from the long pine boughs, flew like white winged birds, and + settled about them as they slept. The moon through the rifted clouds + looked down upon what had been the camp. But all human stain, all trace of + earthly travail, was hidden beneath the spotless mantle mercifully flung + from above. + </p> + <p> + They slept all that day and the next, nor did they waken when voices and + footsteps broke the silence of the camp. And when pitying fingers brushed + the snow from their wan faces, you could scarcely have told from the equal + peace that dwelt upon them which was she that had sinned. Even the law of + Poker Flat recognized this, and turned away, leaving them still locked in + each other’s arms. + </p> + <p> + But at the head of the gulch, on one of the largest pine-trees, they found + the deuce of clubs pinned to the bark with a bowie-knife. It bore the + following, written in pencil in a firm hand:— + </p> +<div class='pre'> + BENEATH THIS TREE LIES THE BODY OF JOHN OAKHURST, WHO STRUCK A + STREAK OF BAD LUCK ON THE 23D OF NOVEMBER 1850. AND HANDED IN HIS + CHECKS ON THE 7TH DECEMBER, 1850. +</div> + <p> + And pulseless and cold, with a Derringer by his side and a bullet in his + heart, though still calm as in life, beneath the snow lay he who was at + once the strongest and yet the weakest of the outcasts of Poker Flat. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + MIGGLES + </h2></div> + <p> + We were eight including the driver. We had not spoken during the passage + of the last six miles, since the jolting of the heavy vehicle over the + roughening road had spoiled the Judge’s last poetical quotation. The tall + man beside the Judge was asleep, his arm passed through the swaying strap + and his head resting upon it,—altogether a limp, helpless looking + object, as if he had hanged himself and been cut down too late. The French + lady on the back seat was asleep too, yet in a half-conscious propriety of + attitude, shown even in the disposition of the handkerchief which she held + to her forehead and which partially veiled her face. The lady from + Virginia City, traveling with her husband, had long since lost all + individuality in a wild confusion of ribbons, veils, furs, and shawls. + There was no sound but the rattling of wheels and the dash of rain upon + the roof. Suddenly the stage stopped and we became dimly aware of voices. + The driver was evidently in the midst of an exciting colloquy with some + one in the road,—a colloquy of which such fragments as “bridge + gone,” “twenty feet of water,” “can’t pass,” were occasionally + distinguishable above the storm. Then came a lull, and a mysterious voice + from the road shouted the parting adjuration— + </p> + <p> + “Try Miggles’s.” + </p> + <p> + We caught a glimpse of our leaders as the vehicle slowly turned, of a + horseman vanishing through the rain, and we were evidently on our way to + Miggles’s. + </p> + <p> + Who and where was Miggles? The Judge, our authority, did not remember the + name, and he knew the country thoroughly. The Washoe traveler thought + Miggles must keep a hotel. We only knew that we were stopped by high water + in front and rear, and that Miggles was our rock of refuge. A ten minutes’ + splashing through a tangled byroad, scarcely wide enough for the stage, + and we drew up before a barred and boarded gate in a wide stone wall or + fence about eight feet high. Evidently Miggles’s, and evidently Miggles + did not keep a hotel. + </p> + <p> + The driver got down and tried the gate. It was securely locked. + </p> + <p> + “Miggles! O Miggles!” + </p> + <p> + No answer. + </p> + <p> + “Migg-ells! You Miggles!” continued the driver, with rising wrath. + </p> + <p> + “Migglesy!” joined in the expressman persuasively. “O Miggy! Mig!” + </p> + <p> + But no reply came from the apparently insensate Miggles. The Judge, who + had finally got the window down, put his head out and propounded a series + of questions, which if answered categorically would have undoubtedly + elucidated the whole mystery, but which the driver evaded by replying that + “if we didn’t want to sit in the coach all night we had better rise up and + sing out for Miggles.” + </p> + <p> + So we rose up and called on Miggles in chorus, then separately. And when + we had finished, a Hibernian fellow passenger from the roof called for + “Maygells!” whereat we all laughed. While we were laughing the driver + cried, “Shoo!” + </p> + <p> + We listened. To our infinite amazement the chorus of “Miggles” was + repeated from the other side of the wall, even to the final and + supplemental “Maygells.” + </p> + <p> + “Extraordinary echo!” said the Judge. + </p> + <p> + “Extraordinary d—d skunk!” roared the driver contemptuously. “Come + out of that, Miggles, and show yourself! Be a man, Miggles! Don’t hide in + the dark; I wouldn’t if I were you, Miggles,” continued Yuba Bill, now + dancing about in an excess of fury. + </p> + <p> + “Miggles!” continued the voice, “O Miggles!” + </p> + <p> + “My good man! Mr. Myghail!” said the Judge, softening the asperities of + the name as much as possible. “Consider the inhospitality of refusing + shelter from the inclemency of the weather to helpless females. Really, my + dear sir”—But a succession of “Miggles,” ending in a burst of + laughter, drowned his voice. + </p> + <p> + Yuba Bill hesitated no longer. Taking a heavy stone from the road, he + battered down the gate, and with the expressman entered the inclosure. We + followed. Nobody was to be seen. In the gathering darkness all that we + could distinguish was that we were in a garden—from the rose bushes + that scattered over us a minute spray from their dripping leaves—and + before a long, rambling wooden building. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know this Miggles?” asked the Judge of Yuba Bill. + </p> + <p> + “No, nor don’t want to,” said Bill shortly, who felt the Pioneer Stage + Company insulted in his person by the contumacious Miggles. + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear sir,” expostulated the Judge, as he thought of the barred + gate. + </p> + <p> + “Lookee here,” said Yuba Bill, with fine irony, “hadn’t you better go back + and sit in the coach till yer introduced? I’m going in,” and he pushed + open the door of the building. + </p> + <p> + A long room, lighted only by the embers of a fire that was dying on the + large hearth at its farther extremity; the walls curiously papered, and + the flickering firelight bringing out its grotesque pattern; someone + sitting in a large armchair by the fireplace. All this we saw as we + crowded together into the room after the driver and expressman. “Hello! be + you Miggles?” said Yuba Bill to the solitary occupant. + </p> + <p> + The figure neither spoke nor stirred. Yuba Bill walked wrathfully toward + it and turned the eye of his coach-lantern upon its face. It was a man’s + face, prematurely old and wrinkled, with very large eyes, in which there + was that expression of perfectly gratuitous solemnity which I had + sometimes seen in an owl’s. The large eyes wandered from Bill’s face to + the lantern, and finally fixed their gaze on that luminous object without + further recognition. + </p> + <p> + Bill restrained himself with an effort. + </p> + <p> + “Miggles! be you deaf? You ain’t dumb anyhow, you know,” and Yuba Bill + shook the insensate figure by the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + To our great dismay, as Bill removed his hand, the venerable stranger + apparently collapsed, sinking into half his size and an indistinguishable + heap of clothing. + </p> + <p> + “Well, dern my skin,” said Bill, looking appealingly at us, and hopelessly + retiring from the contest. + </p> + <p> + The Judge now stepped forward, and we lifted the mysterious invertebrate + back into his original position. Bill was dismissed with the lantern to + reconnoitre outside, for it was evident that, from the helplessness of + this solitary man,there must be attendants near at hand, and we all drew + around the fire. The Judge, who had regained his authority, and had never + lost his conversational amiability,—standing before us with his back + to the hearth,—charged us, as an imaginary jury, as follows:— + </p> + <p> + “It is evident that either our distinguished friend here has reached that + condition described by Shakespeare as ‘the sere and yellow leaf,’ or has + suffered some premature abatement of his mental and physical faculties. + Whether he is really the Miggles”— + </p> + <p> + Here he was interrupted by “Miggles! O Miggles! Migglesy! Mig!” and, in + fact, the whole chorus of Miggles in very much the same key as it had once + before been delivered unto us. + </p> + <p> + We gazed at each other for a moment in some alarm. The Judge, in + particular, vacated his position quickly, as the voice seemed to come + directly over his shoulder. The cause, however, was soon discovered in a + large magpie who was perched upon a shelf over the fireplace, and who + immediately relapsed into a sepulchral silence, which contrasted + singularly with his previous volubility. It was, undoubtedly, his voice + which we had heard in the road, and our friend in the chair was not + responsible for the discourtesy. Yuba Bill, who reentered the room after + an unsuccessful search, was both to accept the explanation, and still eyed + the helpless sitter with suspicion. He had found a shed in which he had + put up his horses, but he came back dripping and skeptical. “Thar ain’t + nobody but him within ten mile of the shanty, and that ar d—d old + skeesicks knows it.” + </p> + <p> + But the faith of the majority proved to be securely based. Bill had + scarcely ceased growling before we heard a quick step upon the porch, the + trailing of a wet skirt, the door was flung open, and with a flash of + white teeth, a sparkle of dark eyes, and an utter absence of ceremony or + diffidence, a young woman entered, shut the door, and, panting, leaned + back against it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if you please, I’m Miggles!” + </p> + <p> + And this was Miggles! this bright-eyed, full-throated young woman, whose + wet gown of coarse blue stuff could not hide the beauty of the feminine + curves to which it clung; from the chestnut crown of whose head, topped by + a man’s oil-skin sou’wester, to the little feet and ankles, hidden + somewhere in the recesses of her boy’s brogans, all was grace,—this + was Miggles, laughing at us, too, in the most airy, frank, off-hand manner + imaginable. + </p> + <p> + “You see, boys,” said she, quite out of breath, and holding one little + hand against her side, quite unheeding the speechless discomfiture of our + party or the complete demoralization of Yuba Bill, whose features had + relaxed into an expression of gratuitous and imbecile cheerfulness,—“you + see, boys, I was mor’n two miles away when you passed down the road. I + thought you might pull up here, and so I ran the whole way, knowing nobody + was home but Jim,—and—and—I’m out of breath—and—that + lets me out.” And here Miggles caught her dripping oilskin hat from her + head, with a mischievous swirl that scattered a shower of raindrops over + us; attempted to put back her hair; dropped two hairpins in the attempt; + laughed, and sat down beside Yuba Bill, with her hands crossed lightly on + her lap. + </p> + <p> + The Judge recovered himself first and essayed an extravagant compliment. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll trouble you for that ha’rpin,” said Miggles gravely. Half a dozen + hands were eagerly stretched forward; the missing hairpin was restored to + its fair owner; and Miggles, crossing the room, looked keenly in the face + of the invalid. The solemn eyes looked back at hers with an expression we + had never seen before. Life and intelligence seemed to struggle back into + the rugged face. Miggles laughed again,—it was a singularly eloquent + laugh,—and turned her black eyes and white teeth once more towards + us. + </p> + <p> + “This afflicted person is”—hesitated the Judge. + </p> + <p> + “Jim!” said Miggles. + </p> + <p> + “Your father?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + “Brother?” + </p> + <p> + “No?” + </p> + <p> + “Husband?” + </p> + <p> + Miggles darted a quick, half-defiant glance at the two lady passengers, + who I had noticed did not participate in the general masculine admiration + of Miggles, and said gravely, “No; it’s Jim!” There was an awkward pause. + The lady passengers moved closer to each other; the Washoe husband looked + abstractedly at the fire, and the tall man apparently turned his eyes + inward for self-support at this emergency. But Miggles’s laugh, which was + very infectious, broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” she said briskly, “you must be hungry. Who’ll bear a hand to help + me get tea?” + </p> + <p> + She had no lack of volunteers. In a few moments Yuba Bill was engaged like + Caliban in bearing logs for this Miranda; the expressman was grinding + coffee on the veranda; to myself the arduous duty of slicing bacon was + assigned; and the Judge lent each man his good-humored and voluble + counsel. And when Miggles, assisted by the Judge and our Hibernian + “deck-passenger,” set the table with all the available crockery, we had + become quite joyous, in spite of the rain that beat against the windows, + the wind that whirled down the chimney, the two ladies who whispered + together in the corner, or the magpie, who uttered a satirical and + croaking commentary on their conversation from his perch above. In the now + bright, blazing fire we could see that the walls were papered with + illustrated journals, arranged with feminine taste and discrimination. The + furniture was extemporized and adapted from candle-boxes and + packing-cases, and covered with gay calico or the skin of some animal. The + armchair of the helpless Jim was an ingenious variation of a flour-barrel. + There was neatness, and even a taste for the picturesque, to be seen in + the few details of the long, low room. + </p> + <p> + The meal was a culinary success. But more, it was a social triumph,—chiefly, + I think, owing to the rare tact of Miggles in guiding the conversation, + asking all the questions herself, yet bearing throughout a frankness that + rejected the idea of any concealment on her own part, so that we talked of + ourselves, of our prospects, of the journey, of the weather, of each + other,—of everything but our host and hostess. It must be confessed + that Miggles’s conversation was never elegant, rarely grammatical, and + that at times she employed expletives the use of which had generally been + yielded to our sex. But they were delivered with such a lighting up of + teeth and eyes, and were usually followed by a laugh—a laugh + peculiar to Miggles—so frank and honest that it seemed to clear the + moral atmosphere. + </p> + <p> + Once during the meal we heard a noise like the rubbing of a heavy body + against the outer walls of the house. This was shortly followed by a + scratching and sniffling at the door. “That’s Joaquin,” said Miggles, in + reply to our questioning glances; “would you like to see him?” Before we + could answer she had opened the door, and disclosed a half-grown grizzly, + who instantly raised himself on his haunches, with his fore paws hanging + down in the popular attitude of mendicancy, and looked admiringly at + Miggles, with a very singular resemblance in his manner to Yuba Bill. + “That’s my watch-dog,” said Miggles, in explanation. “Oh, he don’t bite,” + she added, as the two lady passengers fluttered into a corner. “Does he, + old Toppy?” (the latter remark being addressed directly to the sagacious + Joaquin). “I tell you what, boys,” continued Miggles, after she had fed + and closed the door on Ursa Minor, “you were in big luck that Joaquin + wasn’t hanging round when you dropped in to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Where was he?” asked the Judge. + </p> + <p> + “With me,” said Miggles. “Lord love you! he trots round with me nights + like as if he was a man.” + </p> + <p> + We were silent for a few moments, and listened to the wind. Perhaps we all + had the same picture before us,—of Miggles walking through the rainy + woods with her savage guardian at her side. The Judge, I remember, said + something about Una and her lion; but Miggles received it, as she did + other compliments, with quiet gravity. Whether she was altogether + unconscious of the admiration she excited,—she could hardly have + been oblivious of Yuba Bill’s adoration,—I know not; but her very + frankness suggested a perfect sexual equality that was cruelly humiliating + to the younger members of our party. + </p> + <p> + The incident of the bear did not add anything in Miggles’s favor to the + opinions of those of her own sex who were present. In fact, the repast + over, a chillness radiated from the two lady passengers that no pine + boughs brought in by Yuba Bill and cast as a sacrifice upon the hearth + could wholly overcome. Miggles felt it; and suddenly declaring that it was + time to “turn in,” offered to show the ladies to their bed in an adjoining + room. “You, boys, will have to camp out here by the fire as well as you + can,” she added, “for thar ain’t but the one room.” + </p> + <p> + Our sex—by which, my dear sir, I allude of course to the stronger + portion of humanity—has been generally relieved from the imputation + of curiosity or a fondness for gossip. Yet I am constrained to say, that + hardly had the door closed on Miggles than we crowded together, + whispering, snickering, smiling, and exchanging suspicions, surmises, and + a thousand speculations in regard to our pretty hostess and her singular + companion. I fear that we even hustled that imbecile paralytic, who sat + like a voiceless Memnon in our midst, gazing with the serene indifference + of the Past in his passionless eyes upon our wordy counsels. In the midst + of an exciting discussion the door opened again and Miggles reentered. + </p> + <p> + But not, apparently, the same Miggles who a few hours before had flashed + upon us. Her eyes were downcast, and as she hesitated for a moment on the + threshold, with a blanket on her arm, she seemed to have left behind her + the frank fearlessness which had charmed us a moment before. Coming into + the room, she drew a low stool beside the paralytic’s chair, sat down, + drew the blanket over her shoulders, and saying, “If it’s all the same to + you, boys, as we’re rather crowded, I’ll stop here to-night,” took the + invalid’s withered hand in her own, and turned her eyes upon the dying + fire. An instinctive feeling that this was only premonitory to more + confidential relations, and perhaps some shame at our previous curiosity, + kept us silent. The rain still beat upon the roof, wandering gusts of wind + stirred the embers into momentary brightness, until, in a lull of the + elements, Miggles suddenly lifted up her head, and, throwing her hair over + her shoulder, turned her face upon the group and asked,— + </p> + <p> + “Is there any of you that knows me?” + </p> + <p> + There was no reply. + </p> + <p> + “Think again! I lived at Marysville in ’53. Everybody knew me there, and + everybody had the right to know me. I kept the Polka Saloon until I came + to live with Jim. That’s six years ago. Perhaps I’ve changed some.” + </p> + <p> + The absence of recognition may have disconcerted her. She turned her head + to the fire again, and it was some seconds before she again spoke, and + then more rapidly— + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see I thought some of you must have known me. There’s no great + harm done anyway. What I was going to say was this: Jim here”—she + took his hand in both of hers as she spoke—“used to know me, if you + didn’t, and spent a heap of money upon me. I reckon he spent all he had. + And one day—it’s six years ago this winter—Jim came into my + back room, sat down on my sofy, like as you see him in that chair, and + never moved again without help. He was struck all of a heap, and never + seemed to know what ailed him. The doctors came and said as how it was + caused all along of his way of life,—for Jim was mighty free and + wild-like,—and that he would never get better, and couldn’t last + long anyway. They advised me to send him to Frisco to the hospital, for he + was no good to any one and would be a baby all his life. Perhaps it was + something in Jim’s eye, perhaps it was that I never had a baby, but I said + ‘No.’ I was rich then, for I was popular with everybody,—gentlemen + like yourself, sir, came to see me,—and I sold out my business and + bought this yer place, because it was sort of out of the way of travel, + you see, and I brought my baby here.” + </p> + <p> + With a woman’s intuitive tact and poetry, she had, as she spoke, slowly + shifted her position so as to bring the mute figure of the ruined man + between her and her audience, hiding in the shadow behind it, as if she + offered it as a tacit apology for her actions. Silent and expressionless, + it yet spoke for her; helpless, crushed, and smitten with the Divine + thunderbolt, it still stretched an invisible arm around her. + </p> + <p> + Hidden in the darkness, but still holding his hand, she went on:— + </p> + <p> + “It was a long time before I could get the hang of things about yer, for I + was used to company and excitement. I couldn’t get any woman to help me, + and a man I dursn’t trust; but what with the Indians hereabout, who’d do + odd jobs for me, and having everything sent from the North Fork, Jim and I + managed to worry through. The Doctor would run up from Sacramento once in + a while. He’d ask to see ‘Miggles’s baby’ as he called Jim, and when he’d + go away, he’d say, ‘Miggles, you’re a trump,—God bless you,’ and it + didn’t seem so lonely after that. But the last time he was here he said, + as he opened the door to go, ‘Do you know, Miggles, your baby will grow up + to be a man yet and an honor to his mother; but not here, Miggles, not + here!’ And I thought he went away sad,—and—and”—and here + Miggles’s voice and head were somehow both lost completely in the shadow. + </p> + <p> + “The folks about here are very kind,” said Miggles, after a pause, coming + a little into the light again. “The men from the Fork used to hang around + here, until they found they wasn’t wanted, and the women are kind, and + don’t call. I was pretty lonely until I picked up Joaquin in the woods + yonder one day, when he wasn’t so high, and taught him to beg for his + dinner; and then thar’s Polly—that’s the magpie—she knows no + end of tricks, and makes it quite sociable of evenings with her talk, and + so I don’t feel like as I was the only living being about the ranch. And + Jim here,” said Miggles, with her old laugh again, and coming out quite + into the firelight,—“Jim—Why, boys, you would admire to see + how much he knows for a man like him. Sometimes I bring him flowers, and + he looks at ’em just as natural as if he knew ’em; and times, when we’re + sitting alone, I read him those things on the wall. Why, Lord!” said + Miggles, with her frank laugh, “I’ve read him that whole side of the house + this winter. There never was such a man for reading as Jim.” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” asked the Judge, “do you not marry this man to whom you have + devoted your youthful life?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see,” said Miggles, “it would be playing it rather low down on + Jim to take advantage of his being so helpless. And then, too, if we were + man and wife, now, we’d both know that I was <i>bound</i> to do what I do + now of my own accord.” + </p> + <p> + “But you are young yet and attractive”— + </p> + <p> + “It’s getting late,” said Miggles gravely, “and you’d better all turn in. + Good-night, boys;” and throwing the blanket over her head, Miggles laid + herself down beside Jim’s chair, her head pillowed on the low stool that + held his feet, and spoke no more. The fire slowly faded from the hearth; + we each sought our blankets in silence; and presently there was no sound + in the long room but the pattering of the rain upon the roof and the heavy + breathing of the sleepers. + </p> + <p> + It was nearly morning when I awoke from a troubled dream. The storm had + passed, the stars were shining, and through the shutterless window the + full moon, lifting itself over the solemn pines without, looked into the + room. It touched the lonely figure in the chair with an infinite + compassion, and seemed to baptize with a shining flood the lowly head of + the woman whose hair, as in the sweet old story, bathed the feet of him + she loved. It even lent a kindly poetry to the rugged outline of Yuba + Bill, half reclining on his elbow between them and his passengers, with + savagely patient eyes keeping watch and ward. And then I fell asleep and + only woke at broad day, with Yuba Bill standing over me, and “All aboard” + ringing in my ears. + </p> + <p> + Coffee was waiting for us on the table, but Miggles was gone. We wandered + about the house and lingered long after the horses were harnessed, but she + did not return. It was evident that she wished to avoid a formal + leave-taking, and had so left us to depart as we had come. After we had + helped the ladies into the coach, we returned to the house and solemnly + shook hands with the paralytic Jim, as solemnly setting him back into + position after each handshake. Then we looked for the last time around the + long low room, at the stool where Miggles had sat, and slowly took our + seats in the waiting coach. The whip cracked, and we were off! + </p> + <p> + But as we reached the highroad, Bill’s dexterous hand laid the six horses + back on their haunches, and the stage stopped with a jerk. For there, on a + little eminence beside the road, stood Miggles, her hair flying, her eyes + sparkling, her white handkerchief waving, and her white teeth flashing a + last “good-by.” We waved our hats in return. And then Yuba Bill, as if + fearful of further fascination, madly lashed his horses forward, and we + sank back in our seats. + </p> + <p> + We exchanged not a word until we reached the North Fork and the stage drew + up at the Independence House. Then, the Judge leading, we walked into the + bar-room and took our places gravely at the bar. + </p> + <p> + “Are your glasses charged, gentlemen?” said the Judge, solemnly taking off + his white hat. + </p> + <p> + They were. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, here’s to <i>Miggles</i>—GOD BLESS HER!” + </p> + <p> + Perhaps He had. Who knows? + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + TENNESSEE’S PARTNER + </h2></div> + <p> + I do not think that we ever knew his real name. Our ignorance of it + certainly never gave us any social inconvenience, for at Sandy Bar in 1854 + most men were christened anew. Sometimes these appellatives were derived + from some distinctiveness of dress, as in the case of “Dungaree Jack;” or + from some peculiarity of habit, as shown in “Saleratus Bill,” so called + from an undue proportion of that chemical in his daily bread; or from some + unlucky slip, as exhibited in “The Iron Pirate,” a mild, inoffensive man, + who earned that baleful title by his unfortunate mispronunciation of the + term “iron pyrites.” Perhaps this may have been the beginning of a rude + heraldry; but I am constrained to think that it was because a man’s real + name in that day rested solely upon his own unsupported statement. “Call + yourself Clifford, do you?” said Boston, addressing a timid newcomer with + infinite scorn; “hell is full of such Cliffords!” He then introduced the + unfortunate man, whose name happened to be really Clifford, as “Jaybird + Charley,”—an unhallowed inspiration of the moment that clung to him + ever after. + </p> + <p> + But to return to Tennessee’s Partner, whom we never knew by any other than + this relative title. That he had ever existed as a separate and distinct + individuality we only learned later. It seems that in 1853 he left Poker + Flat to go to San Francisco, ostensibly to procure a wife. He never got + any farther than Stockton. At that place he was attracted by a young + person who waited upon the table at the hotel where he took his meals. One + morning he said something to her which caused her to smile not unkindly, + to somewhat coquettishly break a plate of toast over his upturned, + serious, simple face, and to retreat to the kitchen. He followed her, and + emerged a few moments later, covered with more toast and victory. That day + week they were married by a justice of the peace, and returned to Poker + Flat. I am aware that something more might be made of this episode, but I + prefer to tell it as it was current at Sandy Bar,—in the gulches and + bar-rooms,—where all sentiment was modified by a strong sense of + humor. + </p> + <p> + Of their married felicity but little is known, perhaps for the reason that + Tennessee, then living with his partner, one day took occasion to say + something to the bride on his own account, at which, it is said, she + smiled not unkindly and chastely retreated,—this time as far as + Marysville, where Tennessee followed her, and where they went to + housekeeping without the aid of a justice of the peace. Tennessee’s + Partner took the loss of his wife simply and seriously, as was his + fashion. But to everybody’s surprise, when Tennessee one day returned from + Marysville, without his partner’s wife,—she having smiled and + retreated with somebody else,—Tennessee’s Partner was the first man + to shake his hand and greet him with affection. The boys who had gathered + in the canon to see the shooting were naturally indignant. Their + indignation might have found vent in sarcasm but for a certain look in + Tennessee’s Partner’s eye that indicated a lack of humorous appreciation. + In fact, he was a grave man, with a steady application to practical detail + which was unpleasant in a difficulty. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile a popular feeling against Tennessee had grown up on the Bar. He + was known to be a gambler; he was suspected to be a thief. In these + suspicions Tennessee’s Partner was equally compromised; his continued + intimacy with Tennessee after the affair above quoted could only be + accounted for on the hypothesis of a copartnership of crime. At last + Tennessee’s guilt became flagrant. One day he overtook a stranger on his + way to Red Dog. The stranger afterward related that Tennessee beguiled the + time with interesting anecdote and reminiscence, but illogically concluded + the interview in the following words: “And now, young man, I’ll trouble + you for your knife, your pistols, and your money. You see your weppings + might get you into trouble at Red Dog, and your money’s a temptation to + the evilly disposed. I think you said your address was San Francisco. I + shall endeavor to call.” It may be stated here that Tennessee had a fine + flow of humor, which no business preoccupation could wholly subdue. + </p> + <p> + This exploit was his last. Red Dog and Sandy Bar made common cause against + the highwayman. Tennessee was hunted in very much the same fashion as his + prototype, the grizzly. As the toils closed around him, he made a + desperate dash through the Bar, emptying his revolver at the crowd before + the Arcade Saloon, and so on up Grizzly Canon; but at its farther + extremity he was stopped by a small man on a gray horse. The men looked at + each other a moment in silence. Both were fearless, both self-possessed + and independent, and both types of a civilization that in the seventeenth + century would have been called heroic, but in the nineteenth simply + “reckless.” + </p> + <p> + “What have you got there?—I call,” said Tennessee quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Two bowers and an ace,” said the stranger as quietly, showing two + revolvers and a bowie-knife. + </p> + <p> + “That takes me,” returned Tennessee; and, with this gambler’s epigram, he + threw away his useless pistol and rode back with his captor. + </p> + <p> + It was a warm night. The cool breeze which usually sprang up with the + going down of the sun behind the chaparral-crested mountain was that + evening withheld from Sandy Bar. The little canon was stifling with heated + resinous odors, and the decaying driftwood on the Bar sent forth faint + sickening exhalations. The feverishness of day and its fierce passions + still filled the camp. Lights moved restlessly along the bank of the + river, striking no answering reflection from its tawny current. Against + the blackness of the pines the windows of the old loft above the + express-office stood out staringly bright; and through their curtainless + panes the loungers below could see the forms of those who were even then + deciding the fate of Tennessee. And above all this, etched on the dark + firmament, rose the Sierra, remote and passionless, crowned with remoter + passionless stars. + </p> + <p> + The trial of Tennessee was conducted as fairly as was consistent with a + judge and jury who felt themselves to some extent obliged to justify, in + their verdict, the previous irregularities of arrest and indictment. The + law of Sandy Bar was implacable, but not vengeful. The excitement and + personal feeling of the chase were over; with Tennessee safe in their + hands, they were ready to listen patiently to any defense, which they were + already satisfied was insufficient. There being no doubt in their own + minds, they were willing to give the prisoner the benefit of any that + might exist. Secure in the hypothesis that he ought to be hanged on + general principles, they indulged him with more latitude of defense than + his reckless hardihood seemed to ask. The Judge appeared to be more + anxious than the prisoner, who, otherwise unconcerned, evidently took a + grim pleasure in the responsibility he had created. “I don’t take any hand + in this yer game,” had been his invariable but good-humored reply to all + questions. The Judge—who was also his captor—for a moment + vaguely regretted that he had not shot him “on sight” that morning, but + presently dismissed this human weakness as unworthy of the judicial mind. + Nevertheless, when there was a tap at the door, and it was said that + Tennessee’s Partner was there on behalf of the prisoner, he was admitted + at once without question. Perhaps the younger members of the jury, to whom + the proceedings were becoming irksomely thoughtful, hailed him as a + relief. + </p> + <p> + For he was not, certainly, an imposing figure. Short and stout, with a + square face, sunburned into a preternatural redness, clad in a loose duck + “jumper” and trousers streaked and splashed with red soil, his aspect + under any circumstances would have been quaint, and was now even + ridiculous. As he stooped to deposit at his feet a heavy carpetbag he was + carrying, it became obvious, from partially developed legends and + inscriptions, that the material with which his trousers had been patched + had been originally intended for a less ambitious covering. Yet he + advanced with great gravity, and after shaking the hand of each person in + the room with labored cordiality, he wiped his serious perplexed face on a + red bandana handkerchief, a shade lighter than his complexion, laid his + powerful hand upon the table to steady himself, and thus addressed the + Judge:— + </p> + <p> + “I was passin’ by,” he began, by way of apology, “and I thought I’d just + step in and see how things was gittin’ on with Tennessee thar,—my + pardner. It’s a hot night. I disremember any sich weather before on the + Bar.” + </p> + <p> + He paused a moment, but nobody volunteering any other meteorological + recollection, he again had recourse to his pocket-handkerchief, and for + some moments mopped his face diligently. + </p> + <p> + “Have you anything to say on behalf of the prisoner?” said the Judge + finally. + </p> + <p> + “Thet’s it,” said Tennessee’s Partner, in a tone of relief. “I come yar as + Tennessee’s pardner,—knowing him nigh on four year, off and on, wet + and dry, in luck and out o’ luck. His ways ain’t aller my ways, but thar + ain’t any p’ints in that young man, thar ain’t any liveliness as he’s been + up to, as I don’t know. And you sez to me, sez you,—confidential-like, + and between man and man,—sez you, ‘Do you know anything in his + behalf?’ and I sez to you, sez I,—confidential-like, as between man + and man,—‘What should a man know of his pardner?’” + </p> + <p> + “Is this all you have to say?” asked the Judge impatiently, feeling, + perhaps, that a dangerous sympathy of humor was beginning to humanize the + court. + </p> + <p> + “Thet’s so,” continued Tennessee’s Partner. “It ain’t for me to say + anything agin’ him. And now, what’s the case? Here’s Tennessee wants + money, wants it bad, and doesn’t like to ask it of his old pardner. Well, + what does Tennessee do? He lays for a stranger, and he fetches that + stranger; and you lays for <i>him</i>, and you fetches <i>him</i>; and the + honors is easy. And I put it to you, bein’ a fa’r-minded man, and to you, + gentlemen all, as fa’r-minded men, ef this isn’t so.” + </p> + <p> + “Prisoner,” said the Judge, interrupting, “have you any questions to ask + this man?” + </p> + <p> + “No! no!” continued Tennessee’s Partner hastily. “I play this yer hand + alone. To come down to the bed-rock, it’s just this: Tennessee, thar, has + played it pretty rough and expensive-like on a stranger, and on this yer + camp. And now, what’s the fair thing? Some would say more, some would say + less. Here’s seventeen hundred dollars in coarse gold and a watch,—it’s + about all my pile,—and call it square!” And before a hand could be + raised to prevent him, he had emptied the contents of the carpetbag upon + the table. + </p> + <p> + For a moment his life was in jeopardy. One or two men sprang to their + feet, several hands groped for hidden weapons, and a suggestion to “throw + him from the window” was only overridden by a gesture from the Judge. + Tennessee laughed. And apparently oblivious of the excitement, Tennessee’s + Partner improved the opportunity to mop his face again with his + handkerchief. When order was restored, and the man was made to understand, + by the use of forcible figures and rhetoric, that Tennessee’s offense + could not be condoned by money, his face took a more serious and + sanguinary hue, and those who were nearest to him noticed that his rough + hand trembled slightly on the table. He hesitated a moment as he slowly + returned the gold to the carpetbag, as if he had not yet entirely caught + the elevated sense of justice which swayed the tribunal, and was perplexed + with the belief that he had not offered enough. Then he turned to the + Judge, and saying, “This yer is a lone hand, played alone, and without my + pardner,” he bowed to the jury and was about to withdraw, when the Judge + called him back:— + </p> + <p> + “If you have anything to say to Tennessee, you had better say it now.” + </p> + <p> + For the first time that evening the eyes of the prisoner and his strange + advocate met. Tennessee smiled, showed his white teeth, and saying, + “Euchred, old man!” held out his hand. Tennessee’s Partner took it in his + own, and saying, “I just dropped in as I was passin’ to see how things was + gettin’ on,” let the hand passively fall, and adding that “it was a warm + night,” again mopped his face with his handkerchief, and without another + word withdrew. + </p> + <p> + The two men never again met each other alive. For the unparalleled insult + of a bribe offered to Judge Lynch—who, whether bigoted, weak, or + narrow, was at least incorruptible—firmly fixed in the mind of that + mythical personage any wavering determination of Tennessee’s fate; and at + the break of day he was marched, closely guarded, to meet it at the top of + Marley’s Hill. + </p> + <p> + How he met it, how cool he was, how he refused to say anything, how + perfect were the arrangements of the committee, were all duly reported, + with the addition of a warning moral and example to all future evil-doers, + in the “Red Dog Clarion,” by its editor, who was present, and to whose + vigorous English I cheerfully refer the reader. But the beauty of that + midsummer morning, the blessed amity of earth and air and sky, the + awakened life of the free woods and hills, the joyous renewal and promise + of Nature, and above all, the infinite serenity that thrilled through + each, was not reported, as not being a part of the social lesson. And yet, + when the weak and foolish deed was done, and a life, with its + possibilities and responsibilities, had passed out of the misshapen thing + that dangled between earth and sky, the birds sang, the flowers bloomed, + the sun shone, as cheerily as before; and possibly the “Red Dog Clarion” + was right. + </p> + <p> + Tennessee’s Partner was not in the group that surrounded the ominous tree. + But as they turned to disperse, attention was drawn to the singular + appearance of a motionless donkey-cart halted at the side of the road. As + they approached, they at once recognized the venerable “Jenny” and the + two-wheeled cart as the property of Tennessee’s Partner, used by him in + carrying dirt from his claim; and a few paces distant the owner of the + equipage himself, sitting under a buckeye-tree, wiping the perspiration + from his glowing face. In answer to an inquiry, he said he had come for + the body of the “diseased,” “if it was all the same to the committee.” He + didn’t wish to “hurry anything;” he could “wait.” He was not working that + day; and when the gentlemen were done with the “diseased,” he would take + him. “Ef thar is any present,” he added, in his simple, serious way, “as + would care to jine in the fun’l, they kin come.” Perhaps it was from a + sense of humor, which I have already intimated was a feature of Sandy Bar,—perhaps + it was from something even better than that, but two thirds of the + loungers accepted the invitation at once. + </p> + <p> + It was noon when the body of Tennessee was delivered into the hands of his + partner. As the cart drew up to the fatal tree, we noticed that it + contained a rough oblong box,—apparently made from a section of + sluicing,—and half filled with bark and the tassels of pine. The + cart was further decorated with slips of willow and made fragrant with + buckeye-blossoms. When the body was deposited in the box, Tennessee’s + Partner drew over it a piece of tarred canvas, and gravely mounting the + narrow seat in front, with his feet upon the shafts, urged the little + donkey forward. The equipage moved slowly on, at that decorous pace which + was habitual with Jenny even under less solemn circumstances. The men—half + curiously, half jestingly, but all good-humoredly—strolled along + beside the cart, some in advance, some a little in the rear of the homely + catafalque. But whether from the narrowing of the road or some present + sense of decorum, as the cart passed on, the company fell to the rear in + couples, keeping step, and otherwise assuming the external show of a + formal procession. Jack Folinsbee, who had at the outset played a funeral + march in dumb show upon an imaginary trombone, desisted from a lack of + sympathy and appreciation,—not having, perhaps, your true humorist’s + capacity to be content with the enjoyment of his own fun. + </p> + <p> + The way led through Grizzly Canon, by this time clothed in funereal + drapery and shadows. The redwoods, burying their moccasined feet in the + red soil, stood in Indian file along the track, trailing an uncouth + benediction from their bending boughs upon the passing bier. A hare, + surprised into helpless inactivity, sat upright and pulsating in the ferns + by the roadside as the cortege went by. Squirrels hastened to gain a + secure outlook from higher boughs; and the blue-jays, spreading their + wings, fluttered before them like outriders, until the outskirts of Sandy + Bar were reached, and the solitary cabin of Tennessee’s Partner. + </p> + <p> + Viewed under more favorable circumstances, it would not have been a + cheerful place. The unpicturesque site, the rude and unlovely outlines, + the unsavory details, which distinguish the nest-building of the + California miner, were all here with the dreariness of decay superadded. A + few paces from the cabin there was a rough inclosure, which, in the brief + days of Tennessee’s Partner’s matrimonial felicity, had been used as a + garden, but was now overgrown with fern. As we approached it, we were + surprised to find that what we had taken for a recent attempt at + cultivation was the broken soil about an open grave. + </p> + <p> + The cart was halted before the inclosure, and rejecting the offers of + assistance with the same air of simple self-reliance he had displayed + throughout, Tennessee’s Partner lifted the rough coffin on his back, and + deposited it unaided within the shallow grave. He then nailed down the + board which served as a lid, and mounting the little mound of earth beside + it, took off his hat and slowly mopped his face with his handkerchief. + This the crowd felt was a preliminary to speech, and they disposed + themselves variously on stumps and boulders, and sat expectant. + </p> + <p> + “When a man,” began Tennessee’s Partner slowly, “has been running free all + day, what’s the natural thing for him to do? Why, to come home. And if he + ain’t in a condition to go home, what can his best friend do? Why, bring + him home. And here’s Tennessee has been running free, and we brings him + home from his wandering.” He paused and picked up a fragment of quartz, + rubbed it thoughtfully on his sleeve, and went on: “It ain’t the first + time that I’ve packed him on my back, as you see’d me now. It ain’t the + first time that I brought him to this yer cabin when he couldn’t help + himself; it ain’t the first time that I and Jinny have waited for him on + yon hill, and picked him up and so fetched him home, when he couldn’t + speak and didn’t know me. And now that it’s the last time, why”—he + paused and rubbed the quartz gently on his sleeve—“you see it’s sort + of rough on his pardner. And now, gentlemen” he added abruptly, picking up + his long-handled shovel, “the fun’l’s over; and my thanks, and Tennessee’s + thanks, to you for your trouble.” + </p> + <p> + Resisting any proffers of assistance, he began to fill in the grave, + turning his back upon the crowd, that after a few moments’ hesitation + gradually withdrew. As they crossed the little ridge that hid Sandy Bar + from view, some, looking back, thought they could see Tennessee’s Partner, + his work done, sitting upon the grave, his shovel between his knees, and + his face buried in his red bandana handkerchief. But it was argued by + others that you couldn’t tell his face from his handkerchief at that + distance, and this point remained undecided. + </p> + <p> + In the reaction that followed the feverish excitement of that day, + Tennessee’s Partner was not forgotten. A secret investigation had cleared + him of any complicity in Tennessee’s guilt, and left only a suspicion of + his general sanity. Sandy Bar made a point of calling on him, and + proffering various uncouth but well-meant kindnesses. But from that day + his rude health and great strength seemed visibly to decline; and when the + rainy season fairly set in, and the tiny grass-blades were beginning to + peep from the rocky mound above Tennessee’s grave, he took to his bed. + </p> + <p> + One night, when the pines beside the cabin were swaying in the storm and + trailing their slender fingers over the roof, and the roar and rush of the + swollen river were heard below, Tennessee’s Partner lifted his head from + the pillow, saying, “It is time to go for Tennessee; I must put Jinny in + the cart;” and would have risen from his bed but for the restraint of his + attendant. Struggling, he still pursued his singular fancy: “There, now, + steady, Jinny,—steady, old girl. How dark it is! Look out for the + ruts,—and look out for him, too, old gal. Sometimes, you know, when + he’s blind drunk, he drops down right in the trail. Keep on straight up to + the pine on the top of the hill. Thar! I told you so!—thar he is,—coming + this way, too,—all by himself, sober, and his face a-shining. + Tennessee! Pardner!” + </p> + <p> + And so they met. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + THE IDYL OF BED GULCH + </h2></div> + <p> + Sandy was very drunk. He was lying under an azalea-bush, in pretty much + the same attitude in which he had fallen some hours before. How long he + had been lying there he could not tell, and didn’t care; how long he + should lie there was a matter equally indefinite and unconsidered. A + tranquil philosophy, born of his physical condition, suffused and + saturated his moral being. + </p> + <p> + The spectacle of a drunken man, and of this drunken man in particular, was + not, I grieve to say, of sufficient novelty in Red Gulch to attract + attention. Earlier in the day some local satirist had erected a temporary + tombstone at Sandy’s head, bearing the inscription, “Effects of McCorkle’s + whiskey—kills at forty rods,” with a hand pointing to McCorkle’s + saloon. But this, I imagine, was, like most local satire, personal; and + was a reflection upon the unfairness of the process rather than a + commentary upon the impropriety of the result. With this facetious + exception, Sandy had been undisturbed. A wandering mule, released from his + pack, had cropped the scant herbage beside him, and sniffed curiously at + the prostrate man; a vagabond dog, with that deep sympathy which the + species have for drunken men, had licked his dusty boots and curled + himself up at his feet, and lay there, blinking one eye in the sunlight, + with a simulation of dissipation that was ingenious and dog-like in its + implied flattery of the unconscious man beside him. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the shadows of the pine-trees had slowly swung around until they + crossed the road, and their trunks barred the open meadow with gigantic + parallels of black and yellow. Little puffs of red dust, lifted by the + plunging hoofs of passing teams, dispersed in a grimy shower upon the + recumbent man. The sun sank lower and lower, and still Sandy stirred not. + And then the repose of this philosopher was disturbed, as other + philosophers have been, by the intrusion of an unphilosophical sex. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Mary,” as she was known to the little flock that she had just + dismissed from the log schoolhouse beyond the pines, was taking her + afternoon walk. Observing an unusually fine cluster of blossoms on the + azalea-bush opposite, she crossed the road to pluck it, picking her way + through the red dust, not without certain fierce little shivers of disgust + and some feline circumlocution. And then she came suddenly upon Sandy! + </p> + <p> + Of course she uttered the little staccato cry of her sex. But when she had + paid that tribute to her physical weakness she became overbold and halted + for a moment,—at least six feet from this prostrate monster,—with + her white skirts gathered in her hand, ready for flight. But neither sound + nor motion came from the bush. With one little foot she then overturned + the satirical headboard, and muttered “Beasts!”—an epithet which + probably, at that moment, conveniently classified in her mind the entire + male population of Red Gulch. For Miss Mary, being possessed of certain + rigid notions of her own, had not, perhaps, properly appreciated the + demonstrative gallantry for which the Californian has been so justly + celebrated by his brother Californians, and had, as a newcomer, perhaps + fairly earned the reputation of being “stuck up.” + </p> + <p> + As she stood there she noticed, also, that the slant sunbeams were heating + Sandy’s head to what she judged to be an unhealthy temperature, and that + his hat was lying uselessly at his side. To pick it up and to place it + over his face was a work requiring some courage, particularly as his eyes + were open. Yet she did it and made good her retreat. But she was somewhat + concerned, on looking back, to see that the hat was removed, and that + Sandy was sitting up and saying something. + </p> + <p> + The truth was, that in the calm depths of Sandy’s mind he was satisfied + that the rays of the sun were beneficial and healthful; that from + childhood he had objected to lying down in a hat; that no people but + condemned fools, past redemption, ever wore hats; and that his right to + dispense, with them when he pleased was inalienable. This was the + statement of his inner consciousness. Unfortunately, its outward + expression was vague, being limited to a repetition of the following + formula: “Su’shine all ri’! Wasser maar, eh? Wass up, su’shine?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Mary stopped, and, taking fresh courage from her vantage of distance, + asked him if there was anything that he wanted. + </p> + <p> + “Wass up? Wasser maar?” continued Sandy, in a very high key. + </p> + <p> + “Get up, you horrid man!” said Miss Mary, now thoroughly incensed; “get up + and go home.” + </p> + <p> + Sandy staggered to his feet. He was six feet high, and Miss Mary trembled. + He started forward a few paces and then stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Wass I go home for?” he suddenly asked, with great gravity. + </p> + <p> + “Go and take a bath,” replied Miss Mary, eying his grimy person with great + disfavor. + </p> + <p> + To her infinite dismay, Sandy suddenly pulled off his coat and vest, threw + them on the ground, kicked off his boots, and, plunging wildly forward, + darted headlong over the hill in the direction of the river. + </p> + <p> + “Goodness heavens! the man will be drowned!” said Miss Mary; and then, + with feminine inconsistency, she ran back to the schoolhouse and locked + herself in. That night, while seated at supper with her hostess, the + blacksmith’s wife, it came to Miss Mary to ask, demurely, if her husband + ever got drunk. “Abner,” responded Mrs. Stidger reflectively,—“let’s + see! Abner hasn’t been tight since last ’lection.” Miss Mary would have + liked to ask if he preferred lying in the sun on these occasions, and if a + cold bath would have hurt him; but this would have involved an + explanation, which she did not then care to give. So she contented herself + with opening her gray eyes widely at the red-cheeked Mrs. Stidger,—a + fine specimen of Southwestern efflorescence,—and then dismissed the + subject altogether. The next day she wrote to her dearest friend in + Boston: “I think I find the intoxicated portion of this community the + least objectionable, I refer, my dear, to the men, of course. I do not + know anything that could make the women tolerable.” + </p> + <p> + In less than a week Miss Mary had forgotten this episode, except that her + afternoon walks took thereafter, almost unconsciously, another direction. + She noticed, however, that every morning a fresh cluster of azalea + blossoms appeared among the flowers on her desk. This was not strange, as + her little flock were aware of her fondness for flowers, and invariably + kept her desk bright with anemones, syringas, and lupines; but, on + questioning them, they one and all professed ignorance of the azaleas. A + few days later, Master Johnny Stidger, whose desk was nearest to the + window, was suddenly taken with spasms of apparently gratuitous laughter, + that threatened the discipline of the school. All that Miss Mary could get + from him was, that some one had been “looking in the winder.” Irate and + indignant, she sallied from her hive to do battle with the intruder. As + she turned the corner of the schoolhouse she came plump upon the quondam + drunkard, now perfectly sober, and inexpressibly sheepish and + guilty-looking. + </p> + <p> + These facts Miss Mary was not slow to take a feminine advantage of, in her + present humor. But it was somewhat confusing to observe, also, that the + beast, despite some faint signs of past dissipation, was amiable-looking,—in + fact, a kind of blond Samson, whose corn-colored silken beard apparently + had never yet known the touch of barber’s razor or Delilah’s shears. So + that the cutting speech which quivered on her ready tongue died upon her + lips, and she contented herself with receiving his stammering apology with + supercilious eyelids and the gathered skirts of uncontamination. When she + reentered the schoolroom, her eyes fell upon the azaleas with a new sense + of revelation; and then she laughed, and the little people all laughed, + and they were all unconsciously very happy. + </p> + <p> + It was a hot day, and not long after this, that two short-legged boys came + to grief on the threshold of the school with a pail of water, which they + had laboriously brought from the spring, and that Miss Mary + compassionately seized the pail and started for the spring herself. At the + foot of the hill a shadow crossed her path, and a blue-shirted arm + dexterously but gently relieved her of her burden. Miss Mary was both + embarrassed and angry. “If you carried more of that for yourself,” she + said spitefully to the blue arm, without deigning to raise her lashes to + its owner, “you’d do better.” In the submissive silence that followed she + regretted the speech, and thanked him so sweetly at the door that he + stumbled. Which caused the children to laugh again,—a laugh in which + Miss Mary joined, until the color came faintly into her pale cheek. The + next day a barrel was mysteriously placed beside the door, and as + mysteriously filled with fresh spring-water every morning. + </p> + <p> + Nor was this superior young person without other quiet attentions. + “Profane Bill,” driver of the Slumgullion Stage, widely known in the + newspapers for his “gallantry” in invariably offering the box-seat to the + fair sex, had excepted Miss Mary from this attention, on the ground that + he had a habit of “cussin’ on up grades,” and gave her half the coach to + herself. Jack Hamlin, a gambler, having once silently ridden with her in + the same coach, afterward threw a decanter at the head of a confederate + for mentioning her name in a bar-room. The over-dressed mother of a pupil + whose paternity was doubtful had often lingered near this astute Vestal’s + temple, never daring to enter its sacred precincts, but content to worship + the priestess from afar. + </p> + <p> + With such unconscious intervals the monotonous procession of blue skies, + glittering sunshine, brief twilights, and starlit nights passed over Red + Gulch. Miss Mary grew fond of walking in the sedate and proper woods. + Perhaps she believed, with Mrs. Stidger, that the balsamic odors of the + firs “did her chest good,” for certainly her slight cough was less + frequent and her step was firmer; perhaps she had learned the unending + lesson which the patient pines are never weary of repeating to heedful or + listless ears. And so one day she planned a picnic on Buckeye Hill, and + took the children with her. Away from the dusty road, the straggling + shanties, the yellow ditches, the clamor of restless engines, the cheap + finery of shop-windows, the deeper glitter of paint and colored glass, and + the thin veneering which barbarism takes upon itself in such localities, + what infinite relief was theirs! The last heap of ragged rock and clay + passed, the last unsightly chasm crossed,—how the waiting woods + opened their long files to receive them! How the children—perhaps + because they had not yet grown quite away from the breast of the bounteous + Mother—threw themselves face downward on her brown bosom with + uncouth caresses, filling the air with their laughter; and how Miss Mary + herself—felinely fastidious and intrenched as she was in the purity + of spotless skirts, collar, and cuffs—forgot all, and ran like a + crested quail at the head of her brood, until, romping, laughing, and + panting, with a loosened braid of brown hair, a hat hanging by a knotted + ribbon from her throat, she came suddenly and violently, in the heart of + the forest, upon the luckless Sandy! + </p> + <p> + The explanations, apologies, and not overwise conversation that ensued + need not be indicated here. It would seem, however, that Miss Mary had + already established some acquaintance with this ex-drunkard. Enough that + he was soon accepted as one of the party; that the children, with that + quick intelligence which Providence gives the helpless, recognized a + friend, and played with his blond beard and long silken mustache, and took + other liberties,—as the helpless are apt to do. And when he had + built a fire against a tree, and had shown them other mysteries of + woodcraft, their admiration knew no bounds. At the close of two such + foolish, idle, happy hours he found himself lying at the feet of the + schoolmistress, gazing dreamily in her face as she sat upon the sloping + hillside weaving wreaths of laurel and syringa, in very much the same + attitude as he had lain when first they met. Nor was the similitude + greatly forced. The weakness of an easy, sensuous nature, that had found a + dreamy exaltation in liquor, it is to be feared was now finding an equal + intoxication in love. + </p> + <p> + I think that Sandy was dimly conscious of this himself. I know that he + longed to be doing something,—slaying a grizzly, scalping a savage, + or sacrificing himself in some way for the sake of this sallow-faced, + gray-eyed schoolmistress. As I should like to present him in an heroic + attitude, I stay my hand with great difficulty at this moment, being only + withheld from introducing such an episode by a strong conviction that it + does not usually occur at such times. And I trust that my fairest reader, + who remembers that, in a real crisis, it is always some uninteresting + stranger or unromantic policeman, and not Adolphus, who rescues, will + forgive the omission. + </p> + <p> + So they sat there undisturbed,—the woodpeckers chattering overhead + and the voices of the children coming pleasantly from the hollow below. + What they said matters little. What they thought—which might have + been interesting—did not transpire. The woodpeckers only learned how + Miss Mary was an orphan; how she left her uncle’s house to come to + California for the sake of health and independence; how Sandy was an + orphan too; how he came to California for excitement; how he had lived a + wild life, and how he was trying to reform; and other details, which, from + a woodpecker’s view-point, undoubtedly must have seemed stupid and a waste + of time. But even in such trifles was the afternoon spent; and when the + children were again gathered, and Sandy, with a delicacy which the + schoolmistress well understood, took leave of them quietly at the + outskirts of the settlement, it had seemed the shortest day of her weary + life. + </p> + <p> + As the long, dry summer withered to its roots, the school term of Red + Gulch—to use a local euphuism—“dried up” also. In another day + Miss Mary would be free, and for a season, at least, Red Gulch would know + her no more. She was seated alone in the schoolhouse, her cheek resting on + her hand, her eyes half closed in one of those daydreams in which Miss + Mary, I fear, to the danger of school discipline, was lately in the habit + of indulging. Her lap was full of mosses, ferns, and other woodland + memories. She was so preoccupied with these and her own thoughts that a + gentle tapping at the door passed unheard, or translated itself into the + remembrance of far-off woodpeckers. When at last it asserted itself more + distinctly, she started up with a flushed cheek and opened the door. On + the threshold stood a woman, the self-assertion and audacity of whose + dress were in singular contrast to her timid, irresolute bearing. Miss + Mary recognized at a glance the dubious mother of her anonymous pupil. + Perhaps she was disappointed, perhaps she was only fastidious; but as she + coldly invited her to enter, she half unconsciously settled her white + cuffs and collar, and gathered closer her own chaste skirts. It was, + perhaps, for this reason that the embarrassed stranger, after a moment’s + hesitation, left her gorgeous parasol open and sticking in the dust beside + the door, and then sat down at the farther end of a long bench. Her voice + was husky as she began,— + </p> + <p> + “I heerd tell that you were goin’ down to the Bay to-morrow, and I couldn’t + let you go until I came to thank you for your kindness to my Tommy.” + Tommy, Miss Mary said, was a good boy, and deserved more than the poor + attention she could give him. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, miss; thank ye!” cried the stranger, brightening even through + the color which Red Gulch knew facetiously as her “war paint,” and + striving, in her embarrassment, to drag the long bench nearer the + schoolmistress. “I thank you, miss, for that; and if I am his mother, + there ain’t a sweeter, dearer, better boy lives than him. And if I ain’t + much as says it, thar ain’t a sweeter, dearer, angeler teacher lives than + he’s got.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Mary, sitting primly behind her desk, with a ruler over her shoulder, + opened her gray eyes widely at this, but said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “It ain’t for you to be complimented by the like of me, I know,” she went + on hurriedly. “It ain’t for me to be comin’ here, in broad day, to do it, + either; but I come to ask a favor,—not for me, miss,—not for + me, but for the darling boy.” + </p> + <p> + Encouraged by a look in the young schoolmistress’s eye, and putting her + lilac-gloved hands together, the fingers downward, between her knees, she + went on, in a low voice:— + </p> + <p> + “You see, miss, there’s no one the boy has any claim on but me, and I + ain’t the proper person to bring him up. I thought some, last year, of + sending him away to Frisco to school, but when they talked of bringing a + schoolma’am here, I waited till I saw you, and then I knew it was all + right, and I could keep my boy a little longer. And, oh! miss, he loves + you so much; and if you could hear him talk about you in his pretty way, + and if he could ask you what I ask you now, you couldn’t refuse him. + </p> + <p> + “It is natural,” she went on rapidly, in a voice that trembled strangely + between pride and humility,—“it’s natural that he should take to + you, miss, for his father, when I first knew him, was a gentleman,—and + the boy must forget me, sooner or later,—and so I ain’t a-goin’ to + cry about that. For I come to ask you to take my Tommy,—God bless + him for the bestest, sweetest boy that lives,—to—to—take + him with you.” + </p> + <p> + She had risen and caught the young girl’s hand in her own, and had fallen + on her knees beside her. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve money plenty, and it’s all yours and his. Put him in some good + school, where you can go and see him, and help him to—to—to + forget his mother. Do with him what you like. The worst you can do will be + kindness to what he will learn with me. Only take him out of this wicked + life, this cruel place, this home of shame and sorrow. You will! I know + you will,—won’t you? You will,—you must not, you cannot say + no! You will make him as pure, as gentle as yourself; and when he has + grown-up, you will tell him his father’s name,—the name that hasn’t + passed my lips for years,—the name of Alexander Morton, whom they + call here Sandy! Miss Mary!—do not take your hand away! Miss Mary, + speak to me! You will take my boy? Do not put your face from me. I know it + ought not to look on such as me. Miss Mary!—my God, be merciful!—she + is leaving me!” Miss Mary had risen, and, in the gathering twilight, had + felt her way to the open window. She stood there, leaning against the + casement, her eyes fixed on the last rosy tints that were fading from the + western sky. There was still some of its light on her pure young forehead, + on her white collar, on her clasped white hands, but all fading slowly + away. The suppliant had dragged herself, still on her knees, beside her. + </p> + <p> + “I know it takes time to consider. I will wait here all night; but I + cannot go until you speak. Do not deny me now. You will!—I see it in + your sweet face,—such a face as I have seen in my dreams. I see it + in your eyes, Miss Mary!—you will take my boy!” + </p> + <p> + The last red beam crept higher, suffused Miss Mary’s eyes with something + of its glory, flickered, and faded, and went out. The sun had set on Red + Gulch. In the twilight and silence Miss Mary’s voice sounded pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “I will take the boy. Send him to me to-night.” + </p> + <p> + The happy mother raised the hem of Miss Mary’s skirts to her lips. She + would have buried her hot face in its virgin folds, but she dared not. She + rose to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Does—this man—know of your intention?” asked Miss Mary + suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “No, nor cares. He has never even seen the child to know it.” + </p> + <p> + “Go to him at once—to-night—now! Tell him what you have done. + Tell him I have taken his child, and tell him—he must never see—see—the + child again. Wherever it may be, he must not come; wherever I may take it, + he must not follow! There, go now, please,—I’m weary, and—have + much yet to do!” + </p> + <p> + They walked together to the door. On the threshold the woman turned. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night!” + </p> + <p> + She would have fallen at Miss Mary’s feet. But at the same moment the + young girl reached out her arms, caught the sinful woman to her own pure + breast for one brief moment, and then closed and locked the door. + </p> + <p> + It was with a sudden sense of great responsibility that Profane Bill took + the reins of the Slumgullion stage the next morning, for the + schoolmistress was one of his passengers. As he entered the highroad, in + obedience to a pleasant voice from the “inside,” he suddenly reined up his + horses and respectfully waited, as Tommy hopped out at the command of Miss + Mary. + </p> + <p> + “Not that bush, Tommy,—the next.” + </p> + <p> + Tommy whipped out his new pocket-knife, and cutting a branch from a tall + azalea-bush, returned with it to Miss Mary. “All right now?” + </p> + <p> + “All right!” + </p> + <p> + And the stage-door closed on the Idyl of Red Gulch. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + BROWN OF CALAVERAS + </h2></div> + <p> + A subdued tone of conversation, and the absence of cigar-smoke and + boot-heels at the windows of the Wingdam stagecoach, made it evident that + one of the inside passengers was a woman. A disposition on the part of + loungers at the stations to congregate before the window, and some concern + in regard to the appearance of coats, hats, and collars, further indicated + that she was lovely. All of which Mr. Jack Hamlin, on the box-seat, noted + with the smile of cynical philosophy. Not that he depreciated the sex, but + that he recognized therein a deceitful element, the pursuit of which + sometimes drew mankind away from the equally uncertain blandishments of + poker,—of which it may be remarked that Mr. Hamlin was a + professional exponent. + </p> + <p> + So that, when he placed his narrow boot on the wheel and leaped down, he + did not even glance at the window from which a green veil was fluttering, + but lounged up and down with that listless and grave indifference of his + class, which was, perhaps, the next thing to good-breeding. With his + closely buttoned figure and self-contained air he was a marked contrast to + the other passengers, with their feverish restlessness and boisterous + emotion; and even Bill Masters, a graduate of Harvard, with his slovenly + dress, his over-flowing vitality, his intense appreciation of lawlessness + and barbarism, and his mouth filled with crackers and cheese, I fear cut + but an unromantic figure beside this lonely calculator of chances, with + his pale Greek face and Homeric gravity. + </p> + <p> + The driver called “All aboard!” and Mr. Hamlin returned to the coach. His + foot was upon the wheel, and his face raised to the level of the open + window, when, at the same moment, what appeared to him to be the finest + eyes in the world suddenly met his. He quietly dropped down again, + addressed a few words to one of the inside passengers, effected an + exchange of seats, and as quietly took his place inside. Mr. Hamlin never + allowed his philosophy to interfere with decisive and prompt action. + </p> + <p> + I fear that this irruption of Jack cast some restraint upon the other + passengers, particularly those who were making themselves most agreeable + to the lady. One of them leaned forward, and apparently conveyed to her + information regarding Mr. Hamlin’s profession in a single epithet. Whether + Mr. Hamlin heard it, or whether he recognized in the informant a + distinguished jurist, from whom, but a few evenings before, he had won + several thousand dollars, I cannot say. His colorless face betrayed no + sign; his black eyes, quietly observant, glanced indifferently past the + legal gentleman, and rested on the much more pleasing features of his + neighbor. An Indian stoicism—said to be an inheritance from his + maternal ancestor—stood him in good service, until the rolling + wheels rattled upon the river gravel at Scott’s Ferry, and the stage drew + up at the International Hotel for dinner. The legal gentleman and a member + of Congress leaped out, and stood ready to assist the descending goddess, + while Colonel Starbottle of Siskiyou took charge of her parasol and shawl. + In this multiplicity of attention there was a momentary confusion and + delay. Jack Hamlin quietly opened the <i>opposite</i> door of the coach, + took the lady’s hand, with that decision and positiveness which a + hesitating and undecided sex know how to admire, and in an instant had + dexterously and gracefully swung her to the ground and again lifted her to + the platform. An audible chuckle on the box, I fear, came from that other + cynic, Yuba Bill, the driver. “Look keerfully arter that baggage, Kernel,” + said the expressman, with affected concern, as he looked after Colonel + Starbottle, gloomily bringing up the rear of the triumphant procession to + the waiting-room. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hamlin did not stay for dinner. His horse was already saddled and + awaiting him. He dashed over the ford, up the gravelly hill, and out into + the dusty perspective of the Wingdam road, like one leaving an unpleasant + fancy behind him. The inmates of dusty cabins by the roadside shaded their + eyes with their hands and looked after him, recognizing the man by his + horse, and speculating what “was up with Comanche Jack.” Yet much of this + interest centred in the horse, in a community where the time made by + “French Pete’s” mare, in his run from the Sheriff of Calaveras, eclipsed + all concern in the ultimate fate of that worthy. + </p> + <p> + The sweating flanks of his gray at length recalled him to himself. He + checked his speed, and turning into a byroad, sometimes used as a cut-off, + trotted leisurely along, the reins hanging listlessly from his fingers. As + he rode on, the character of the landscape changed and became more + pastoral. Openings in groves of pine and sycamore disclosed some rude + attempts at cultivation,—a flowering vine trailed over the porch of + one cabin, and a woman rocked her cradled babe under the roses of another. + A little farther on, Mr. Hamlin came upon some bare-legged children wading + in the willowy creek, and so wrought upon them with a badinage peculiar to + himself, that they were emboldened to climb up his horse’s legs and over + his saddle, until he was fain to develop an exaggerated ferocity of + demeanor, and to escape, leaving behind some kisses and coin. And then, + advancing deeper into the woods, where all signs of habitation failed, he + began to sing, uplifting a tenor so singularly sweet, and shaded by a + pathos so subdued and tender, that I wot the robins and linnets stopped to + listen. Mr. Hamlin’s voice was not cultivated; the subject of his song was + some sentimental lunacy, borrowed from the negro minstrels; but there + thrilled through all some occult quality of tone and expression that was + unspeakably touching. Indeed, it was a wonderful sight to see this + sentimental blackleg, with a pack of cards in his pocket and a revolver at + his back, sending his voice before him through the dim woods with a plaint + about his “Nelly’s grave,” in a way that overflowed the eyes of the + listener. A sparrow-hawk, fresh from his sixth victim, possibly + recognizing in Mr. Hamlin a kindred spirit, stared at him in surprise, and + was fain to confess the superiority of man. With a superior predatory + capacity <i>he</i> couldn’t sing. + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Hamlin presently found himself again on the highroad and at his + former pace. Ditches and banks of gravel, denuded hillsides, stumps, and + decayed trunks of trees, took the place of woodland and ravine, and + indicated his approach to civilization. Then a church-steeple came in + sight, and he knew that he had reached home. In a few moments he was + clattering down the single narrow street that lost itself in a chaotic + ruin of races, ditches, and tailings at the foot of the hill, and + dismounted before the gilded windows of the Magnolia saloon. Passing + through the long bar-room, he pushed open a green-baize door, entered a + dark passage, opened another door with a passkey, and found himself in a + dimly lighted room, whose furniture, though elegant and costly for the + locality, showed signs of abuse. The inlaid centre-table was overlaid with + stained disks that were not contemplated in the original design, the + embroidered armchairs were discolored, and the green velvet lounge, on + which Mr. Hamlin threw himself, was soiled at the foot with the red soil + of Wingdam. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hamlin did not sing in his cage. He lay still, looking at a highly + colored painting above him, representing a young creature of opulent + charms. It occurred to him then, for the first time, that he had never + seen exactly that kind of a woman, and that, if he should, he would not, + probably, fall in love with her. Perhaps he was thinking of another style + of beauty. But just then some one knocked at the door. Without rising, he + pulled a cord that apparently shot back a bolt, for the door swung open, + and a man entered. + </p> + <p> + The new-comer was broad-shouldered and robust,—a vigor not borne out + in the face, which, though handsome, was singularly weak and disfigured by + dissipation. He appeared to be, also, under the influence of liquor, for + he started on seeing Mr. Hamlin, and said, “I thought Kate was here;” + stammered, and seemed confused and embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hamlin smiled the smile which he had before worn on the Wingdam coach, + and sat up, quite refreshed and ready for business. + </p> + <p> + “You didn’t come up on the stage,” continued the newcomer, “did you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Hamlin; “I left it at Scott’s Ferry. It isn’t due for half + an hour yet. But how’s luck, Brown?” + </p> + <p> + “D—d bad,” said Brown, his face suddenly assuming an expression of + weak despair. “I’m cleaned out again, Jack,” he continued, in a whining + tone, that formed a pitiable contrast to his bulky figure; “can’t you help + me with a hundred till to-morrow’s clean-up? You see I’ve got to send + money home to the old woman, and—you’ve won twenty times that amount + from me.” + </p> + <p> + The conclusion was, perhaps, not entirely logical, but Jack overlooked it, + and handed the sum to his visitor. “The old-woman business is about played + out, Brown,” he added, by way of commentary; “why don’t you say you want + to buck ag’in’ faro? You know you ain’t married!” + </p> + <p> + “Fact, sir,” said Brown, with a sudden gravity, as if the mere contact of + the gold with the palm of the hand had imparted some dignity to his frame. + “I’ve got a wife—a d—d good one, too, if I do say it—in + the States. It’s three years since I’ve seen her, and a year since I’ve + writ to her. When things is about straight, and we get down to the lead, + I’m going to send for her.” + </p> + <p> + “And Kate?” queried Mr. Hamlin, with his previous smile. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brown of Calaveras essayed an archness of glance to cover his + confusion, which his weak face and whiskey-muddled intellect but poorly + carried out, and said,— + </p> + <p> + “D—n it, Jack, a man must have a little liberty, you know. But come, + what do you say to a little game? Give us a show to double this hundred.” + </p> + <p> + Jack Hamlin looked curiously at his fatuous friend. Perhaps he knew that + the man was predestined to lose the money, and preferred that it should + flow back into his own coffers rather than any other. He nodded his head, + and drew his chair toward the table. At the same moment there came a rap + upon the door. + </p> + <p> + “It’s Kate,” said Mr. Brown. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hamlin shot back the bolt and the door opened. But, for the first time + in his life, he staggered to his feet utterly unnerved and abashed, and + for the first time in his life the hot blood crimsoned his colorless + cheeks to his forehead. For before him stood the lady he had lifted from + the Wingdam coach, whom Brown, dropping his cards with a hysterical laugh, + greeted as,— + </p> + <p> + “My old woman, by thunder!” + </p> + <p> + They say that Mrs. Brown burst into tears and reproaches of her husband. I + saw her in 1857 at Marysville, and disbelieve the story. And the “Wingdam + Chronicle” of the next week, under the head of “Touching Reunion,” said: + “One of those beautiful and touching incidents, peculiar to California + life, occurred last week in our city. The wife of one of Wingdam’s eminent + pioneers, tired of the effete civilization of the East and its + inhospitable climate, resolved to join her noble husband upon these golden + shores. Without informing him of her intention, she undertook the long + journey, and arrived last week. The joy of the husband may be easier + imagined than described. The meeting is said to have been indescribably + affecting. We trust her example may be followed.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Whether owing to Mrs. Brown’s influence, or to some more successful + speculations, Mr. Brown’s financial fortune from that day steadily + improved. He bought out his partners in the “Nip and Tuck” lead, with + money which was said to have been won at poker a week or two after his + wife’s arrival, but which rumor, adopting Mrs. Brown’s theory that Brown + had forsworn the gaming-table, declared to have been furnished by Mr. Jack + Hamlin. He built and furnished the Wingdam House, which pretty Mrs. + Brown’s great popularity kept overflowing with guests. He was elected to + the Assembly, and gave largess to churches. A street in Wingdam was named + in his honor. + </p> + <p> + Yet it was noted that in proportion as he waxed wealthy and fortunate, he + grew pale, thin, and anxious. As his wife’s popularity increased, he + became fretful and impatient. The most uxorious of husbands, he was + absurdly jealous. If he did not interfere with his wife’s social liberty, + it was because it was maliciously whispered that his first and only + attempt was met by an outburst from Mrs. Brown that terrified him into + silence. Much of this kind of gossip came from those of her own sex whom + she had supplanted in the chivalrous attentions of Wingdam, which, like + most popular chivalry, was devoted to an admiration of power, whether of + masculine force or feminine beauty. It should be remembered, too, in her + extenuation, that, since her arrival, she had been the unconscious + priestess of a mythological worship, perhaps not more ennobling to her + womanhood than that which distinguished an older Greek democracy. I think + that Brown was dimly conscious of this. But his only confidant was Jack + Hamlin, whose infelix reputation naturally precluded any open intimacy + with the family, and whose visits were infrequent. + </p> + <p> + It was midsummer and a moonlit night, and Mrs. Brown, very rosy, + large-eyed, and pretty, sat upon the piazza, enjoying the fresh incense of + the mountain breeze, and, it is to be feared, another incense which was + not so fresh nor quite as innocent. Beside her sat Colonel Starbottle and + Judge Boompointer, and a later addition to her court in the shape of a + foreign tourist. She was in good spirits. + </p> + <p> + “What do you see down the road?” inquired the gallant Colonel, who had + been conscious, for the last few minutes, that Mrs. Brown’s attention was + diverted. + </p> + <p> + “Dust,” said Mrs. Brown, with a sigh. “Only Sister Anne’s ‘flock of + sheep.’” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel, whose literary recollections did not extend farther back than + last week’s paper, took a more practical view. “It ain’t sheep,” he + continued; “it’s a horseman. Judge, ain’t that Jack Hamlin’s gray?” + </p> + <p> + But the Judge didn’t know; and, as Mrs. Brown suggested the air was + growing too cold for further investigations, they retired to the parlor. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brown was in the stable, where he generally retired after dinner. + Perhaps it was to show his contempt for his wife’s companions; perhaps, + like other weak natures, he found pleasure in the exercise of absolute + power over inferior animals. He had a certain gratification in the + training of a chestnut mare, whom he could beat or caress as pleased him, + which he couldn’t do with Mrs. Brown. It was here that he recognized a + certain gray horse which had just come in, and, looking a little farther + on, found his rider. Brown’s greeting was cordial and hearty; Mr. Hamlin’s + somewhat restrained. But, at Brown’s urgent request, he followed him up + the back stairs to a narrow corridor, and thence to a small room looking + out upon the stable-yard. It was plainly furnished with a bed, a table, a + few chairs, and a rack for guns and whips. + </p> + <p> + “This yer’s my home, Jack,” said Brown with a sigh, as he threw himself + upon the bed and motioned his companion to a chair. “Her room’s t’ other + end of the hall. It’s more’n six months since we’ve lived together, or + met, except at meals. It’s mighty rough papers on the head of the house, + ain’t it?” he said with a forced laugh. “But I’m glad to see you, Jack, d—d + glad,” and he reached from the bed, and again shook the unresponsive hand + of Jack Hamlin. + </p> + <p> + “I brought ye up here, for I didn’t want to talk in the stable; though, + for the matter of that, it’s all round town. Don’t strike a light. We can + talk here in the moonshine. Put up your feet on that winder and sit here + beside me. Thar’s whiskey in that jug.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hamlin did not avail himself of the information. Brown of Calaveras + turned his face to the wall, and continued,— + </p> + <p> + “If I didn’t love the woman, Jack, I wouldn’t mind. But it’s loving her, + and seeing her day arter day goin’ on at this rate, and no one to put down + the brake; that’s what gits me! But I’m glad to see ye, Jack, d—d + glad.” + </p> + <p> + In the darkness he groped about until he had found and wrung his + companion’s hand again. He would have detained it, but Jack slipped it + into the buttoned breast of his coat, and asked listlessly, “How long has + this been going on?” + </p> + <p> + “Ever since she came here; ever since the day she walked into the + Magnolia. I was a fool then; Jack, I’m a fool now; but I didn’t know how + much I loved her till then. And she hasn’t been the same woman since. + </p> + <p> + “But that ain’t all, Jack; and it’s what I wanted to see you about, and + I’m glad you’ve come. It ain’t that she doesn’t love me any more; it ain’t + that she fools with every chap that comes along; for perhaps I staked her + love and lost it, as I did everything else at the Magnolia; and perhaps + foolin’ is nateral to some women, and thar ain’t no great harm done, ’cept + to the fools. But, Jack, I think,—I think she loves somebody else. + Don’t move, Jack! don’t move; if your pistol hurts ye, take it off. + </p> + <p> + “It’s been more’n six months now that she’s seemed unhappy and lonesome, + and kinder nervous and scared-like. And sometimes I’ve ketched her lookin’ + at me sort of timid and pitying. And she writes to somebody. And for the + last week she’s been gathering her own things,—trinkets, and + furbelows, and jew’lry,—and, Jack, I think she’s goin’ off. I could + stand all but that. To have her steal away like a thief!” He put his face + downward to the pillow, and for a few moments there was no sound but the + ticking of a clock on the mantel. Mr. Hamlin lit a cigar, and moved to the + open window. The moon no longer shone into the room, and the bed and its + occupant were in shadow. “What shall I do, Jack?” said the voice from the + darkness. + </p> + <p> + The answer came promptly and clearly from the window-side, “Spot the man, + and kill him on sight.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Jack”— + </p> + <p> + “He’s took the risk!” + </p> + <p> + “But will that bring her back?” + </p> + <p> + Jack did not reply, but moved from the window towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t go yet, Jack; light the candle and sit by the table. It’s a comfort + to see ye, if nothin’ else.” + </p> + <p> + Jack hesitated and then complied. He drew a pack of cards from his pocket + and shuffled them, glancing at the bed. But Brown’s face was turned to the + wall. When Mr. Hamlin had shuffled the cards, he cut them, and dealt one + card on the opposite side of the table towards the bed, and another on his + side of the table for himself. The first was a deuce; his own card a king. + He then shuffled and cut again. This time “dummy” had a queen and himself + a four-spot. Jack brightened up for the third deal. It brought his + adversary a deuce and himself a king again. “Two out of three,” said Jack + audibly. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that, Jack?” said Brown. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + Then Jack tried his hand with dice; but he always threw sixes and his + imaginary opponent aces. The force of habit is sometimes confusing. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile some magnetic influence in Mr. Hamlin’s presence, or the anodyne + of liquor, or both, brought surcease of sorrow, and Brown slept. Mr. + Hamlin moved his chair to the window and looked out on the town of + Wingdam, now sleeping peacefully, its harsh outlines softened and subdued, + its glaring colors mellowed and sobered in the moonlight that flowed over + all. In the hush he could hear the gurgling of water in the ditches and + the sighing of the pines beyond the hill. Then he looked up at the + firmament, and as he did so a star shot across the twinkling field. + Presently another, and then another. The phenomenon suggested to Mr. + Hamlin a fresh augury. If in another fifteen minutes another star should + fall—He sat there, watch in hand, for twice that time, but the + phenomenon was not repeated. + </p> + <p> + The clock struck two, and Brown still slept. Mr. Hamlin approached the + table and took from his pocket a letter, which he read by the flickering + candlelight. It contained only a single line, written in pencil, in a + woman’s hand,— + </p> + <p> + “Be at the corral with the buggy at three.” + </p> + <p> + The sleeper moved uneasily and then awoke. “Are you there, Jack?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t go yet. I dreamed just now, Jack,—dreamed of old times. I + thought that Sue and me was being married agin, and that the parson, Jack, + was—who do you think?—you!” + </p> + <p> + The gambler laughed, and seated himself on the bed, the paper still in his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a good sign, ain’t it?” queried Brown. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon! Say, old man, hadn’t you better get up?” + </p> + <p> + The “old man,” thus affectionately appealed to, rose, with the assistance + of Hamlin’s outstretched hand. + </p> + <p> + “Smoke?” + </p> + <p> + Brown mechanically took the proffered cigar. + </p> + <p> + “Light?” + </p> + <p> + Jack had twisted the letter into a spiral, lit it, and held it for his + companion. He continued to hold it until it was consumed, and dropped the + fragment—a fiery star—from the open window. He watched it as + it fell, and then returned to his friend. + </p> + <p> + “Old man,” he said, placing his hands upon Brown’s shoulders, “in ten + minutes I’ll be on the road, and gone like that spark. We won’t see each + other agin; but, before I go, take a fool’s advice: sell out all you’ve + got, take your wife with you, and quit the country. It ain’t no place for + you nor her. Tell her she must go; make her go if she won’t. Don’t whine + because you can’t be a saint and she ain’t an angel. Be a man, and treat + her like a woman. Don’t be a d-d fool. Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + He tore himself from Brown’s grasp and leaped down the stairs like a deer. + At the stable-door he collared the half-sleeping hostler, and backed him + against the wall. “Saddle my horse in two minutes, or I’ll”—The + ellipsis was frightfully suggestive. + </p> + <p> + “The missis said you was to have the buggy,” stammered the man. + </p> + <p> + “D—n the buggy!” The horse was saddled as fast as the nervous hands + of the astounded hostler could manipulate buckle and strap. + </p> + <p> + “Is anything up, Mr. Hamlin?” said the man, who, like all his class, + admired the elan of his fiery patron, and was really concerned in his + welfare. + </p> + <p> + “Stand aside!” + </p> + <p> + The man fell back. With an oath, a bound, and clatter, Jack was into the + road. In another moment, to the man’s half-awakened eyes, he was but a + moving cloud of dust in the distance, towards which a star just loosed + from its brethren was trailing a stream of fire. + </p> + <p> + But early that morning the dwellers by the Wingdam turnpike, miles aways, + heard a voice, pure as a sky-lark’s, singing afield. They who were asleep + turned over on their rude couches to dream of youth, and love, and olden + days. Hard-faced men and anxious gold-seekers, already at work, ceased + their labors and leaned upon their picks to listen to a romantic vagabond + ambling away against the rosy sunrise. + </p> + <hr /> +<div class='pre'> + CONDENSED NOVELS +</div> + <hr /> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + MUCK-A-MUCK + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + A MODERN INDIAN NOVEL + </div> + <p> + AFTER COOPER <a id="2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER I + </h3> + <p> + It was toward the close of a bright October day. The last rays of the + setting sun were reflected from one of those sylvan lakes peculiar to the + Sierras of California. On the right the curling smoke of an Indian village + rose between the columns of the lofty pines, while to the left the log + cottage of Judge Tompkins, embowered in buckeyes, completed the enchanting + picture. + </p> + <p> + Although the exterior of the cottage was humble and unpretentious, and in + keeping with the wildness of the landscape, its interior gave evidence of + the cultivation and refinement of its inmates. An aquarium, containing + goldfishes, stood on a marble centre-table at one end of the apartment, + while a magnificent grand piano occupied the other. The floor was covered + with a yielding tapestry carpet, and the walls were adorned with paintings + from the pencils of Van Dyke, Rubens, Tintoretto, Michael Angelo, and the + productions of the more modern Turner, Kensett, Church, and Bierstadt. + Although Judge Tompkins had chosen the frontiers of civilization as his + home, it was impossible for him to entirely forego the habits and tastes + of his former life. He was seated in a luxurious armchair, writing at a + mahogany escritoire, while his daughter, a lovely young girl of seventeen + summers, plied her crotchet-needle on an ottoman beside him. A bright fire + of pine logs flickered and flamed on the ample hearth. + </p> + <p> + Genevra Octavia Tompkins was Judge Tompkins’s only child. Her mother had + long since died on the Plains. Reared in affluence, no pains had been + spared with the daughter’s education. She was a graduate of one of the + principal seminaries, and spoke French with a perfect Benicia accent. + Peerlessly beautiful, she was dressed in a white moire antique robe + trimmed with tulle. That simple rosebud, with which most heroines + exclusively decorate their hair, was all she wore in her raven locks. + </p> + <p> + The Judge was the first to break the silence. + </p> + <p> + “Genevra, the logs which compose yonder fire seem to have been + incautiously chosen. The sibilation produced by the sap, which exudes + copiously therefrom, is not conducive to composition.” + </p> + <p> + “True, father, but I thought it would be preferable to the constant + crepitation which is apt to attend the combustion of more seasoned + ligneous fragments.” + </p> + <p> + The Judge looked admiringly at the intellectual features of the graceful + girl, and half forgot the slight annoyances of the green wood in the + musical accents of his daughter. He was smoothing her hair tenderly, when + the shadow of a tall figure, which suddenly darkened the doorway, caused + him to look up. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER II + </h3> + <p> + It needed but a glance at the new-comer to detect at once the form and + features of the haughty aborigine,—the untaught and untrammeled son + of the forest. Over one shoulder a blanket, negligently but gracefully + thrown, disclosed a bare and powerful breast, decorated with a quantity of + three-cent postage-stamps which he had despoiled from an Overland Mail + stage a few weeks previous. A cast-off beaver of Judge Tompkins’s, adorned + by a simple feather, covered his erect head, from beneath which his + straight locks descended. His right hand hung lightly by his side, while + his left was engaged in holding on a pair of pantaloons, which the lawless + grace and freedom of his lower limbs evidently could not brook. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said the Indian, in a low sweet tone,—“why does the Pale Face + still follow the track of the Red Man? Why does he pursue him, even as + O-kee chow, the wild cat, chases Ka-ka, the skunk? Why are the feet of + Sorrel-top, the white chief, among the acorns of Muck-a-Muck, the mountain + forest? Why,” he repeated, quietly but firmly abstracting a silver spoon + from the table,—“why do you seek to drive him from the wigwams of + his fathers? His brothers are already gone to the happy hunting-grounds. + Will the Pale Face seek him there?” And, averting his face from the Judge, + he hastily slipped a silver cake-basket beneath his blanket, to conceal + his emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Muck-a-Muck has spoken,” said Genevra softly. “Let him now listen. Are + the acorns of the mountain sweeter than the esculent and nutritious bean + of the Pale Face miner? Does my brother prize the edible qualities of the + snail above that of the crisp and oleaginous bacon? Delicious are the + grasshoppers that sport on the hillside,—are they better than the + dried apples of the Pale Faces? Pleasant is the gurgle of the torrent, + Kish-Kish, but is it better than the cluck-cluck of old Bourbon from the + old stone bottle?” + </p> + <p> + “Ugh!” said the Indian,—“ugh! good. The White Rabbit is wise. Her + words fall as the snow on Tootoonolo, and the rocky heart of Muck-a-Muck + is hidden. What says my brother the Gray Gopher of Dutch Flat?” + </p> + <p> + “She has spoken, Muck-a-Muck,” said the Judge, gazing fondly on his + daughter. “It is well. Our treaty is concluded. No, thank you,—you + need <i>not</i> dance the Dance of Snow-shoes, or the Moccasin Dance, the + Dance of Green Corn, or the Treaty Dance. I would be alone. A strange + sadness overpowers me.” + </p> + <p> + “I go,” said the Indian. “Tell your great chief in Washington, the Sachem + Andy, that the Red Man is retiring before the footsteps of the adventurous + pioneer. Inform him, if you please, that westward the star of empire takes + its way, that the chiefs of the Pi-Ute nation are for Reconstruction to a + man, and that Klamath will poll a heavy Republican vote in the fall.” + </p> + <p> + And folding his blanket more tightly around him, Muck-a-Muck withdrew. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER III + </h3> + <p> + Genevra Tompkins stood at the door of the log-cabin, looking after the + retreating Overland Mail stage which conveyed her father to Virginia City. + “He may never return again,” sighed the young girl, as she glanced at the + frightfully rolling vehicle and wildly careering horses,—“at least, + with unbroken bones. Should he meet with an accident! I mind me now a + fearful legend, familiar to my childhood. Can it be that the drivers on + this line are privately instructed to dispatch all passengers maimed by + accident, to prevent tedious litigation? No, no. But why this weight upon + my heart?” + </p> + <p> + She seated herself at the piano and lightly passed her hand over the keys. + Then, in a clear mezzo-soprano voice, she sang the first verse of one of + the most popular Irish ballads:— + </p> +<div class='pre'> + “O <i>Arrah ma dheelish</i>, the distant <i>dudheen</i> + Lies soft in the moonlight, <i>ma bouchal vourneen</i>: + The springing <i>gossoons</i> on the heather are still, + And the <i>caubeens</i> and <i>colleens</i> are heard on the hill.” + </div> + <p> + But as the ravishing notes of her sweet voice died upon the air, her hands + sank listlessly to her side. Music could not chase away the mysterious + shadow from her heart. Again she rose. Putting on a white crape bonnet, + and carefully drawing a pair of lemon-colored gloves over her taper + fingers, she seized her parasol and plunged into the depths of the pine + forest. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER IV + </h3> + <p> + Genevra had not proceeded many miles before a weariness seized upon her + fragile limbs, and she would fain seat herself upon the trunk of a + prostrate pine, which she previously dusted with her handkerchief. The sun + was just sinking below the horizon, and the scene was one of gorgeous and + sylvan beauty. “How beautiful is nature!” murmured the innocent girl, as, + reclining gracefully against the root of the tree, she gathered up her + skirts and tied a handkerchief around her throat. But a low growl + interrupted her meditation. Starting to her feet, her eyes met a sight + which froze her blood with terror. + </p> + <p> + The only outlet to the forest was the narrow path, barely wide enough for + a single person, hemmed in by trees and rocks, which she had just + traversed. Down this path, in Indian file, came a monstrous grizzly, + closely followed by a California lion, a wild cat, and a buffalo, the rear + being brought up by a wild Spanish bull. The mouths of the three first + animals were distended with frightful significance, the horns of the last + were lowered as ominously. As Genevra was preparing to faint, she heard a + low voice behind her. + </p> + <p> + “Eternally dog-gone my skin ef this ain’t the puttiest chance yet!” At the + same moment, a long, shining barrel dropped lightly from behind her, and + rested over her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Genevra shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “Dern ye—don’t move!” + </p> + <p> + Genevra became motionless. + </p> + <p> + The crack of a rifle rang through the woods. Three frightful yells were + heard, and two sullen roars. Five animals bounded into the air and five + lifeless bodies lay upon the plain. The well-aimed bullet had done its + work. Entering the open throat of the grizzly it had traversed his body + only to enter the throat of the California lion, and in like manner the + catamount, until it passed through into the respective foreheads of the + bull and the buffalo, and finally fell flattened from the rocky hillside. + </p> + <p> + Genevra turned quickly. “My preserver!” she shrieked, and fell into the + arms of Natty Bumpo, the celebrated Pike Ranger of Donner Lake. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER V + </h3> + <p> + The moon rose cheerfully above Donner Lake. On its placid bosom a dug-out + canoe glided rapidly, containing Natty Bumpo and Genevra Tompkins. + </p> + <p> + Both were silent. The same thought possessed each, and perhaps there was + sweet companionship even in the unbroken quiet. Genevra bit the handle of + her parasol, and blushed. Natty Bumpo took a fresh chew of tobacco. At + length Genevra said, as if in half-spoken reverie:— + </p> + <p> + “The soft shining of the moon and the peaceful ripple of the waves seem to + say to us various things of an instructive and moral tendency.” + </p> + <p> + “You may bet yer pile on that, miss,” said her companion gravely. “It’s + all the preachin’ and psalm-singin’ I’ve heern since I was a boy.” “Noble + being!” said Miss Tompkins to herself, glancing at the stately Pike as he + bent over his paddle to conceal his emotion. “Reared in this wild + seclusion, yet he has become penetrated with visible consciousness of a + Great First Cause.” Then, collecting herself, she said aloud: “Methinks ’t + were pleasant to glide ever thus down the stream of life, hand in hand + with the one being whom the soul claims as its affinity. But what am I + saying?”—and the delicate-minded girl hid her face in her hands. + </p> + <p> + A long silence ensued, which was at length broken by her companion. + </p> + <p> + “Ef you mean you’re on the marry,” he said thoughtfully, “I ain’t in no + wise partikler.” + </p> + <p> + “My husband!” faltered the blushing girl; and she fell into his arms. + </p> + <p> + In ten minutes more the loving couple had landed at Judge Tompkins’s. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER VI + </h3> + <p> + A year has passed away. Natty Bumpo was returning from Gold Hill, where he + had been to purchase provisions. On his way to Donner Lake, rumors of an + Indian uprising met his ears. “Dern their pesky skins, ef they dare to + touch my Jenny,” he muttered between his clenched teeth. + </p> + <p> + It was dark when he reached the borders of the lake. Around a glittering + fire he dimly discerned dusky figures dancing. They were in war paint. + Conspicuous among them was the renowned Muck-a-Muck. But why did the + fingers of Natty Bumpo tighten convulsively around his rifle? + </p> + <p> + The chief held in his hand long tufts of raven hair. The heart of the + pioneer sickened as he recognized the clustering curls of Genevra. In a + moment his rifle was at his shoulder, and with a sharp “ping” Muck-a-Muck + leaped into the air a corpse. To knock out the brains of the remaining + savages, tear the tresses from the stiffening hand of Muck-a-Muck, and + dash rapidly forward to the cottage of Judge Tompkins, was the work of a + moment. + </p> + <p> + He burst open the door. Why did he stand transfixed with open mouth and + distended eyeballs? Was the sight too horrible to be borne? On the + contrary, before him, in her peerless beauty, stood Genevra Tompkins, + leaning on her father’s arm. + </p> + <p> + “Ye’r not scalped, then!” gasped her lover. + </p> + <p> + “No. I have no hesitation in saying that I am not; but why this + abruptness?” responded Genevra. + </p> + <p> + Bumpo could not speak, but frantically produced the silken tresses. + Genevra turned her face aside. + </p> + <p> + “Why, that’s her waterfall!” said the Judge. + </p> + <p> + Bumpo sank fainting to the floor. + </p> + <p> + The famous Pike chieftain never recovered from the deceit, and refused to + marry Genevra, who died, twenty years afterwards, of a broken heart. Judge + Tompkins lost his fortune in Wild Cat. The stage passes twice a week the + deserted cottage at Donner Lake. Thus was the death of Muck-a-Muck + avenged. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + SELINA SEDILIA + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + BY MISS M. E. B-DD-N AND MRS. H-N-Y W-D. + </div> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER I + </h3> + <p> + The sun was setting over Sloperton Grange, and reddened the window of the + lonely chamber in the western tower, supposed to be haunted by Sir Edward + Sedilia, the founder of the Grange. In the dreamy distance arose the + gilded mausoleum of Lady Felicia Sedilia, who haunted that portion of + Sedilia Manor known as “Stiff-uns Acre.” A little to the left of the + Grange might have been seen a mouldering ruin, known as “Guy’s Keep,” + haunted by the spirit of Sir Guy Sedilia, who was found, one morning, + crushed by one of the fallen battlements. Yet, as the setting sun gilded + these objects, a beautiful and almost holy calm seemed diffused about the + Grange. + </p> + <p> + The Lady Selina sat by an oriel window overlooking the park. The sun sank + gently in the bosom of the German Ocean, and yet the lady did not lift her + beautiful head from the finely curved arm and diminutive hand which + supported it. When darkness finally shrouded the landscape she started, + for the sound of horse-hoofs clattered over the stones of the avenue. She + had scarcely risen, before an aristocratic young man fell on his knees + before her. + </p> + <p> + “My Selina!” + </p> + <p> + “Edgardo! You here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dearest.” + </p> + <p> + “And—you—you—have—seen nothing?” said the lady in + an agitated voice and nervous manner, turning her face aside to conceal + her emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing—that is, nothing of any account,” said Edgardo. “I passed + the ghost of your aunt in the park, noticed the spectre of your uncle in + the ruined keep, and observed the familiar features of the spirit of your + great-grandfather at his usual post. But nothing beyond these trifles, my + Selina. Nothing more, love, absolutely nothing.” + </p> + <p> + The young man turned his dark, liquid orbs fondly upon the ingenuous face + of his betrothed. + </p> + <p> + “My own Edgardo!—and you still love me? You still would marry me in + spite of this dark mystery which surrounds me? In spite of the fatal + history of my race? In spite of the ominous predictions of my aged nurse?” + </p> + <p> + “I would, Selina;” and the young man passed his arm around her yielding + waist. The two lovers gazed at each other’s faces in unspeakable bliss. + Suddenly Selina started. + </p> + <p> + “Leave me, Edgardo! leave me! A mysterious something—a fatal + misgiving—a dark ambiguity—an equivocal mistrust oppresses me. + I would be alone!” + </p> + <p> + The young man arose, and cast a loving glance on the lady. “Then we will + be married on the seventeenth.” + </p> + <p> + “The seventeenth,” repeated Selina, with a mysterious shudder. + </p> + <p> + They embraced and parted. As the clatter of hoofs in the courtyard died + away, the Lady Selina sank into the chair she had just quitted. + </p> + <p> + “The seventeenth,” she repeated slowly, with the same fateful shudder. + “Ah!—what if he should know that I have another husband living? Dare + I reveal to him that I have two legitimate and three natural children? + Dare I repeat to him the history of my youth? Dare I confess that at the + age of seven I poisoned my sister, by putting verdigris in her + cream-tarts,—that I threw my cousin from a swing at the age of + twelve? That the lady’s maid who incurred the displeasure of my girlhood + now lies at the bottom of the horse-pond? No! no! he is too pure,—too + good,—too innocent,—to hear such improper conversation!” and + her whole body writhed as she rocked to and fro in a paroxysm of grief. + </p> + <p> + But she was soon calm. Rising to her feet, she opened a secret panel in + the wall, and revealed a slow-match ready for lighting. + </p> + <p> + “This match,” said the Lady Selina, “is connected with a mine beneath the + western tower, where my three children are confined; another branch of it + lies under the parish church, where the record of my first marriage is + kept. I have only to light this match and the whole of my past life is + swept away!” She approached the match with a lighted candle. + </p> + <p> + But a hand was laid upon her arm, and with a shriek the Lady Selina fell + on her knees before the spectre of Sir Guy. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER II + </h3> + <p> + “Forbear, Selina,” said the phantom in a hollow voice. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I forbear?” responded Selina haughtily, as she recovered her + courage. “You know the secret of our race?” + </p> + <p> + “I do. Understand me,—I do not object to the eccentricities of your + youth. I know the fearful destiny which, pursuing you, led you to poison + your sister and drown your lady’s maid. I know the awful doom which I have + brought upon this house. But if you make away with these children”— + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the Lady Selina hastily. + </p> + <p> + “They will haunt you!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I fear them not,” said Selina, drawing her superb figure to its + full height. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but, my dear child, what place are they to haunt? The ruin is sacred + to your uncle’s spirit. Your aunt monopolizes the park, and, I must be + allowed to state, not unfrequently trespasses upon the grounds of others. + The horse-pond is frequented by the spirit of your maid, and your murdered + sister walks these corridors. To be plain, there is no room at Sloperton + Grange for another ghost. I cannot have them in my room,—for you + know I don’t like children. Think of this, rash girl, and forbear! Would + you, Selina,” said the phantom mournfully,—“would you force your + great-grandfather’s spirit to take lodgings elsewhere?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Selina’s hand trembled; the lighted candle fell from her nerveless + fingers. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she cried passionately; “never!” and fell fainting to the floor. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER III + </h3> + <p> + Edgardo galloped rapidly towards Sloperton. When the outline of the Grange + had faded away in the darkness, he reined his magnificent steed beside the + ruins of Guy’s Keep. + </p> + <p> + “It wants but a few minutes of the hour,” he said, consulting his watch by + the light of the moon. “He dare not break his word. He will come.” He + paused, and peered anxiously into the darkness. “But come what may, she is + mine,” he continued, as his thoughts reverted fondly to the fair lady he + had quitted. “Yet if she knew all. If she knew that I am a disgraced and + ruined man,—a felon and an outcast. If she knew that at the age of + fourteen I murdered my Latin tutor and forged my uncle’s will. If she knew + that I had three wives already, and that the fourth victim of misplaced + confidence and my unfortunate peculiarity is expected to be at Sloperton + by to-night’s train with her baby. But no; she must not know it. Constance + must not arrive; Burke the Slogger must attend to that. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! here he is! Well?” + </p> + <p> + These words were addressed to a ruffian in a slouched hat, who suddenly + appeared from Guy’s Keep. + </p> + <p> + “I he’s here, measter,” said the villain, with a disgracefully low accent + and complete disregard of grammatical rules. + </p> + <p> + “It is well. Listen: I’m in possession of facts that will send you to the + gallows. I know of the murder of Bill Smithers, the robbery of the + tollgate-keeper, and the making away of the youngest daughter of Sir + Reginald de Walton. A word from me, and the officers of justice are on + your track.” + </p> + <p> + Burke the Slogger trembled. + </p> + <p> + “Hark ye! serve my purpose, and I may yet save you. The 5.30 train from + Clapham will be due at Sloperton at 9.25. <i>It must not arrive!</i>” + </p> + <p> + The villain’s eyes sparkled as he nodded at Edgardo. + </p> + <p> + “Enough,—you understand; leave me!” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER IV + </h3> + <p> + About half a mile from Sloperton Station the South Clapham and Medway line + crossed a bridge over Sloperton-on-Trent. As the shades of evening were + closing, a man in a slouched hat might have been seen, carrying a saw and + axe under his arm, hanging about the bridge. From time to time he + disappeared in the shadow of its abutments, but the sound of a saw and axe + still betrayed his vicinity. At exactly nine o’clock he reappeared, and + crossing to the Sloperton side, rested his shoulder against the abutment + and gave a shove. The bridge swayed a moment, and then fell with a splash + into the water, leaving a space of one hundred feet between the two banks. + This done, Burke the Slogger,—for it was he,—with a fiendish + chuckle seated himself on the divided railway track and awaited the coming + of the train. + </p> + <p> + A shriek from the woods announced its approach. For an instant Burke the + Slogger saw the glaring of a red lamp. The ground trembled. The train was + going with fearful rapidity. Another second and it had reached the bank. + Burke the Slogger uttered a fiendish laugh. But the next moment the train + leaped across the chasm, striking the rails exactly even, and dashing out + the life of Burke the Slogger, sped away to Sloperton. + </p> + <p> + The first object that greeted Edgardo, as he rode up to the station on the + arrival of the train, was the body of Burke the Slogger hanging on the + cowcatcher; the second was the face of his deserted wife looking from the + window of a second-class carriage. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER V + </h3> + <p> + A nameless terror seemed to have taken possession of Clarissa, Lady + Selina’s maid, as she rushed into the presence of her mistress. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my lady, such news!” + </p> + <p> + “Explain yourself,” said her mistress, rising. + </p> + <p> + “An accident has happened on the railway, and a man has been killed.” + </p> + <p> + “What—not Edgardo!” almost screamed Selina. + </p> + <p> + “No, Burke the Slogger, your ladyship!” + </p> + <p> + “My first husband!” said Lady Selina, sinking on her knees. “Just Heaven, + I thank thee!” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER VI + </h3> + <p> + The morning of the seventeenth dawned brightly over Sloperton. “A fine day + for the wedding,” said the sexton to Swipes, the butler of Sloperton + Grange. The aged retainer shook his head sadly. “Alas! there’s no trusting + in signs!” he continued. “Seventy-five years ago, on a day like this, my + young mistress”—but he was cut short by the appearance of a + stranger. + </p> + <p> + “I would see Sir Edgardo,” said the new-comer impatiently. + </p> + <p> + The bridegroom, who, with the rest of the wedding-train, was about + stepping into the carriage to proceed to the parish church, drew the + stranger aside. + </p> + <p> + “I’s done!” said the stranger, in a hoarse whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! and you buried her?” + </p> + <p> + “With the others!” + </p> + <p> + “Enough. No more at present. Meet me after the ceremony, and you shall + have your reward.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger shuffled away, and Edgardo returned to his bride. “A trifling + matter of business I had forgotten, my dear Selina; let us proceed.” And + the young man pressed the timid hand of his blushing bride as he handed + her into the carriage. The cavalcade rode out of the courtyard. At the + same moment, the deep bell on Guy’s Keep tolled ominously. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER VII + </h3> + <p> + Scarcely had the wedding-train left the Grange, than Alice Sedilia, + youngest daughter of Lady Selina, made her escape from the western tower, + owing to a lack of watchfulness on the part of Clarissa. The innocent + child, freed from restraint, rambled through the lonely corridors, and + finally, opening a door, found herself in her mother’s boudoir. For some + time she amused herself by examining the various ornaments and elegant + trifles with which it was filled. Then, in pursuance of a childish freak, + she dressed herself in her mother’s laces and ribbons. In this occupation + she chanced to touch a peg which proved to be a spring that opened a + secret panel in the wall. Alice uttered a cry of delight as she noticed + what, to her childish fancy, appeared to be the slow-match of a firework. + Taking a lucifer match in her hand she approached the fuse. She hesitated + a moment. What would her mother and her nurse say? + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the ringing of the chimes of Sloperton parish church met her ear. + Alice knew that the sound signified that the marriage-party had entered + the church, and that she was secure from interruption. With a childish + smile upon her lips, Alice Sedilia touched off the slow-match. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER VIII + </h3> + <p> + At exactly two o’clock on the seventeenth, Rupert Sedilia, who had just + returned from India, was thoughtfully descending the hill toward Sloperton + manor. “If I can prove that my aunt, Lady Selina, was married before my + father died, I can establish my claim to Sloperton Grange,” he uttered, + half aloud. He paused, for a sudden trembling of the earth beneath his + feet, and a terrific explosion, as of a park of artillery, arrested his + progress. At the same moment he beheld a dense cloud of smoke envelop the + churchyard of Sloperton, and the western tower of the Grange seemed to be + lifted bodily from its foundation. The air seemed filled with falling + fragments, and two dark objects struck the earth close at his feet. Rupert + picked them up. One seemed to be a heavy volume bound in brass. A cry + burst from, his lips. + </p> + <p> + “The Parish Records.” He opened the volume hastily. It contained the + marriage of Lady Selina to “Burke the Slogger.” + </p> + <p> + The second object proved to be a piece of parchment. He tore it open with + trembling fingers. It was the missing will of Sir James Sedilia! + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER IX + </h3> + <p> + When the bells again rang on the new parish church of Sloperton it was for + the marriage of Sir Rupert Sedilia and his cousin, the only remaining + members of the family. + </p> + <p> + Five more ghosts were added to the supernatural population of Sloperton + Grange. Perhaps this was the reason why Sir Rupert sold the property + shortly afterward, and that for many years a dark shadow seemed to hang + over the ruins of Sloperton Grange. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + THE NINETY-NINE GUARDSMEN + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + BY AL-X-D-R D-M-S + </div> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER I + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + SHOWING THE QUALITY OF THE CUSTOMERS OF THE INNKEEPER OF PROVINS + </div> + <p> + Twenty years after, the gigantic innkeeper of Provins stood looking at a + cloud of dust on the highway. + </p> + <p> + This cloud of dust betokened the approach of a traveler. Travelers had + been rare that season on the highway between Paris and Provins. + </p> + <p> + The heart of the innkeeper rejoiced. Turning to Dame Perigord, his wife, + he said, stroking his white apron,— + </p> + <p> + “St. Denis! make haste and spread the cloth. Add a bottle of Charlevoix to + the table. This traveler, who rides so fast, by his pace must be a + monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + Truly the traveler, clad in the uniform of a musketeer, as he drew up to + the door of the hostelry, did not seem to have spared his horse. Throwing + his reins to the landlord, he leaped lightly to the ground. He was a young + man of four and twenty, and spoke with a slight Gascon accent. + </p> + <p> + “I am hungry, morbleu! I wish to dine!” + </p> + <p> + The gigantic innkeeper bowed and led the way to a neat apartment, where a + table stood covered with tempting viands. The musketeer at once set to + work. Fowls, fish, and pates disappeared before him. Perigord sighed as he + witnessed the devastations. Only once the stranger paused. + </p> + <p> + “Wine!” Perigord brought wine. The stranger drank a dozen bottles. Finally + he rose to depart. Turning to the expectant landlord, he said,— + </p> + <p> + “Charge it.” + </p> + <p> + “To whom, your highness?” said Perigord anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “To his Eminence!” + </p> + <p> + “Mazarin?” ejaculated the innkeeper. + </p> + <p> + “The same. Bring me my horse,” and the musketeer, remounting his favorite + animal, rode away. + </p> + <p> + The innkeeper slowly turned back into the inn. Scarcely had he reached the + courtyard before the clatter of hoofs again called him to the doorway. A + young musketeer of a light and graceful figure rode up. + </p> + <p> + “Parbleu, my dear Perigord, I am famishing. What have you got for dinner?” + </p> + <p> + “Venison, capons, larks, and pigeons, your excellency,” replied the + obsequious landlord, bowing to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Enough!” The young musketeer dismounted, and entered the inn. Seating + himself at the table replenished by the careful Perigord, he speedily + swept it as clean as the first comer. + </p> + <p> + “Some wine, my brave Perigord,” said the graceful young musketeer, as soon + as he could find utterance. + </p> + <p> + Perigord brought three dozen of Charlevoix. The young man emptied them + almost at a draught. + </p> + <p> + “By-by, Perigord,” he said lightly, waving his hand, as, preceding the + astonished landlord, he slowly withdrew. + </p> + <p> + “But, your highness,—the bill,” said the astounded Perigord. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, the bill. Charge it!” + </p> + <p> + “To whom?” + </p> + <p> + “The Queen!” + </p> + <p> + “What, Madame?” + </p> + <p> + “The same. Adieu, my good Perigord.” And the graceful stranger rode away. + An interval of quiet succeeded, in which the innkeeper gazed woefully at + his wife. Suddenly he was startled by a clatter of hoofs, and an + aristocratic figure stood in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the courtier good-naturedly. “What, do my eyes deceive me? No, + it is the festive and luxurious Perigord. Perigord, listen. I famish. I + languish. I would dine.” + </p> + <p> + The innkeeper again covered the table with viands. Again it was swept + clean as the fields of Egypt before the miraculous swarm of locusts. The + stranger looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Bring me another fowl, my Perigord.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible, your excellency; the larder is stripped clean.” + </p> + <p> + “Another flitch of bacon, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible, your highness; there is no more.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, wine!” + </p> + <p> + The landlord brought one hundred and forty-four bottles. The courtier + drank them all. + </p> + <p> + “One may drink if one cannot eat,” said the aristocratic stranger + good-humoredly. + </p> + <p> + The innkeeper shuddered. + </p> + <p> + The guest rose to depart. The innkeeper came slowly forward with his bill, + to which he had covertly added the losses which he had suffered from the + previous strangers. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, the bill. Charge it.” + </p> + <p> + “Charge it! to whom?” + </p> + <p> + “To the King,” said the guest. + </p> + <p> + “What! his Majesty?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. Farewell, Perigord.” + </p> + <p> + The innkeeper groaned. Then he went out and took down his sign. Then + remarked to his wife,— + </p> + <p> + “I am a plain man, and don’t understand politics. It seems, however, that + the country is in a troubled state. Between his Eminence the Cardinal, his + Majesty the King, and her Majesty the Queen, I am a ruined man.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay,” said Dame Perigord, “I have an idea.” + </p> + <p> + “And that is”— + </p> + <p> + “Become yourself a musketeer.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER II + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + THE COMBAT + </div> + <p> + On leaving Provins the first musketeer proceeded to Nangis, where he was + reinforced by thirty-three followers. The second musketeer, arriving at + Nangis at the same moment, placed himself at the head of thirty-three + more. The third guest of the landlord of Provins arrived at Nangis in time + to assemble together thirty-three other musketeers. + </p> + <p> + The first stranger led the troops of his Eminence. + </p> + <p> + The second led the troops of the Queen. + </p> + <p> + The third led the troops of the King. + </p> + <p> + The fight commenced. It raged terribly for seven hours. The first + musketeer killed thirty of the Queen’s troops. The second musketeer killed + thirty of the King’s troops. The third musketeer killed thirty of his + Eminence’s troops. + </p> + <p> + By this time it will be perceived the number of musketeers had been + narrowed down to four on each side. + </p> + <p> + Naturally the three principal warriors approached each other. + </p> + <p> + They simultaneously uttered a cry. + </p> + <p> + “Aramis!” + </p> + <p> + “Athos!” + </p> + <p> + “D’Artagnan!” + </p> + <p> + They fell into each other’s arms. + </p> + <p> + “And it seems that we are fighting against each other, my children,” said + the Count de la Fere mournfully. + </p> + <p> + “How singular!” exclaimed Aramis and D’Artagnan. + </p> + <p> + “Let us stop this fratricidal warfare,” said Athos. + </p> + <p> + “We will!” they exclaimed together. + </p> + <p> + “But how to disband our followers?” queried D’Artagnan. + </p> + <p> + Aramis winked. They understood each other. “Let us cut ’em down!” + </p> + <p> + They cut ’em down. Aramis killed three. D’Artagnan three. Athos three. + </p> + <p> + The friends again embraced. “How like old times!” said Aramis. “How + touching!” exclaimed the serious and philosophic Count de la Fere. + </p> + <p> + The galloping of hoofs caused them to withdraw from each other’s embraces. + A gigantic figure rapidly approached. + </p> + <p> + “The innkeeper of Provins!” they cried, drawing their swords. + </p> + <p> + “Perigord! down with him!” shouted D’Artagnan. + </p> + <p> + “Stay,” said Athos. + </p> + <p> + The gigantic figure was beside them. He uttered a cry. + </p> + <p> + “Athos, Aramis, D’Artagnan!” + </p> + <p> + “Porthos!” exclaimed the astonished trio. + </p> + <p> + “The same.” They all fell in each other’s arms. + </p> + <p> + The Count de la Fere slowly raised his hands to heaven. “Bless you! Bless + us, my children! However different our opinion may be in regard to + politics, we have but one opinion in regard to our own merits. Where can + you find a better man than Aramis?” + </p> + <p> + “Than Porthos?” said Aramis. + </p> + <p> + “Than D’Artagnan?” said Porthos. + </p> + <p> + “Than Athos?” said D’Artagnan. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER III + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + SHOWING HOW THE KING OF FRANCE WENT UP A LADDER + </div> + <p> + The King descended into the garden. Proceeding cautiously along the + terraced walk, he came to the wall immediately below the windows of + Madame. To the left were two windows, concealed by vines. They opened into + the apartments of La Valliere. + </p> + <p> + The King sighed. + </p> + <p> + “It is about nineteen feet to that window,” said the King. “If I had a + ladder about nineteen feet long, it would reach to that window. This is + logic.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the King stumbled over something. “St. Denis!” he exclaimed, + looking down. It was a ladder, just nineteen feet long. + </p> + <p> + The King placed it against the wall. In so doing, he fixed the lower end + upon the abdomen of a man who lay concealed by the wall. The man did not + utter a cry or wince. The King suspected nothing. He ascended the ladder. + </p> + <p> + The ladder was too short. Louis the Grand was not a tall man. He was still + two feet below the window. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” said the King. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the ladder was lifted two feet from below. This enabled the King + to leap in the window. At the farther end of the apartment stood a young + girl, with red hair and a lame leg. She was trembling with emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Louise!” + </p> + <p> + “The King!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my God, mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my God, sire.” + </p> + <p> + But a low knock at the door interrupted the lovers. The King uttered a cry + of rage; Louise one of despair. The door opened and D’Artagnan entered. + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening, sire,” said the musketeer. + </p> + <p> + The King touched a bell. Porthos appeared in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “Arrest M. D’Artagnan.” + </p> + <p> + Porthos looked at D’Artagnan, and did not move. + </p> + <p> + The King almost turned purple with rage. He again touched the bell. Athos + entered. “Count, arrest Porthos and D’Artagnan.” + </p> + <p> + The Count de la Fere glanced at Porthos and D’Artagnan, and smiled + sweetly. + </p> + <p> + “Sacre! Where is Aramis?” said the King violently. + </p> + <p> + “Here, sire,” and Aramis entered. + </p> + <p> + “Arrest Athos, Porthos, and D’Artagnan.” + </p> + <p> + Aramis bowed and folded his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Arrest yourself!” + </p> + <p> + Aramis did not move. + </p> + <p> + The King shuddered and turned pale. “Am I not King of France?” + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly, sire, but we are also, severally, Porthos, Aramis, D’Artagnan, + and Athos.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the King. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “What does this mean?” + </p> + <p> + “It means, your Majesty,” said Aramis, stepping forward, “that your + conduct as a married man is highly improper. I am an abbe, and I object to + these improprieties. My friends here, D’Artagnan, Athos, and Porthos, + pure-minded young men, are also terribly shocked. Observe, sire, how they + blush!” + </p> + <p> + Athos, Porthos, and D’Artagnan blushed. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the King thoughtfully. “You teach me a lesson. You are devoted + and noble young gentlemen, but your only weakness is your excessive + modesty. From this moment I make you all marshals and dukes, with the + exception of Aramis.” + </p> + <p> + “And me, sire?” said Aramis. + </p> + <p> + “You shall be an archbishop!” + </p> + <p> + The four friends looked up and then rushed into each other’s arms. The + King embraced Louise de la Valliere, by way of keeping them company. A + pause ensued. At last Athos spoke,— + </p> + <p> + “Swear, my children, that, next to yourselves, you will respect—the + King of France; and remember that ‘Forty years after’ we will meet again.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + MISS MIX + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + BY CH-L-TTE BR-NTE + </div> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER I + </h3> + <p> + My earliest impressions are of a huge, misshapen rock, against which the + hoarse waves beat unceasingly. On this rock three pelicans are standing in + a defiant attitude. A dark sky lowers in the background, while two + sea-gulls and a gigantic cormorant eye with extreme disfavor the floating + corpse of a drowned woman in the foreground. A few bracelets, coral + necklaces, and other articles of jewelry, scattered around loosely, + complete this remarkable picture. + </p> + <p> + It is one which, in some vague, unconscious way, symbolizes, to my fancy, + the character of a man. I have never been able to explain exactly why. I + think I must have seen the picture in some illustrated volume when a baby, + or my mother may have dreamed it before I was born. + </p> + <p> + As a child I was not handsome. When I consulted the triangular bit of + looking-glass which I always carried with me, it showed a pale, sandy, and + freckled face, shaded by locks like the color of seaweed when the sun + strikes it in deep water. My eyes were said to be indistinctive; they were + a faint, ashen gray; but above them rose—my only beauty—a + high, massive, domelike forehead, with polished temples, like door-knobs + of the purest porcelain. + </p> + <p> + Our family was a family of governesses. My mother had been one, and my + sisters had the same occupation. Consequently, when, at the age of + thirteen, my eldest sister handed me the advertisement of Mr. Rawjester, + clipped from that day’s “Times,” I accepted it as my destiny. + Nevertheless, a mysterious presentiment of an indefinite future haunted me + in my dreams that night, as I lay upon my little snow-white bed. The next + morning, with two band-boxes tied up in silk handkerchiefs, and a hair + trunk, I turned my back upon Minerva Cottage forever. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER II + </h3> + <p> + Blunderbore Hall, the seat of James Rawjester, Esq., was encompassed by + dark pines and funereal hemlocks on all sides. The wind sang weirdly in + the turrets and moaned through the long-drawn avenues of the park. As I + approached the house I saw several mysterious figures flit before the + windows, and a yell of demoniac laughter answered my summons at the bell. + While I strove to repress my gloomy forebodings, the housekeeper, a timid, + scared-looking old woman, showed me into the library. + </p> + <p> + I entered, overcome with conflicting emotions. I was dressed in a narrow + gown of dark serge, trimmed with black bugles. A thick green shawl was + pinned across my breast. My hands were encased with black half-mittens + worked with steel beads; on my feet were large pattens, originally the + property of my deceased grandmother. I carried a blue cotton umbrella. As + I passed before a mirror I could not help glancing at it, nor could I + disguise from myself the fact that I was not handsome. + </p> + <p> + Drawing a chair into a recess, I sat down with folded hands, calmly + awaiting the arrival of my master. Once or twice a fearful yell rang + through the house, or the rattling of chains, and curses uttered in a + deep, manly voice, broke upon the oppressive stillness. I began to feel my + soul rising with the emergency of the moment. “You look alarmed, miss. You + don’t hear anything, my dear, do you?” asked the housekeeper nervously. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing whatever,” I remarked calmly, as a terrific scream, followed by + the dragging of chairs and tables in the room above, drowned for a moment + my reply. “It is the silence, on the contrary, which has made me foolishly + nervous.” + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper looked at me approvingly, and instantly made some tea for + me. + </p> + <p> + I drank seven cups; as I was beginning the eighth, I heard a crash, and + the next moment a man leaped into the room through the broken window. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER III + </h3> + <p> + The crash startled me from my self-control. The housekeeper bent toward me + and whispered,— + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be excited. It’s Mr. Rawjester,—he prefers to come in + sometimes in this way. It’s his playfulness, ha! ha! ha!” + </p> + <p> + “I perceive,” I said calmly. “It’s the unfettered impulse of a lofty soul + breaking the tyrannizing bonds of custom.” And I turned toward him. + </p> + <p> + He had never once looked at me. He stood with his back to the fire, which + set off the herculean breadth of his shoulders. His face was dark and + expressive; his under jaw squarely formed, and remarkably heavy. I was + struck with his remarkable likeness to a gorilla. + </p> + <p> + As he absently tied the poker into hard knots with his nervous fingers, I + watched him with some interest. Suddenly he turned toward me:— + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I’m handsome, young woman?” + </p> + <p> + “Not classically beautiful,” I returned calmly; “but you have, if I may so + express myself, an abstract manliness,—a sincere and wholesome + barbarity which, involving as it does the naturalness”—But I + stopped, for he yawned at that moment,—an action which singularly + developed the immense breadth of his lower jaw,—and I saw he had + forgotten me. Presently he turned to the housekeeper,— + </p> + <p> + “Leave us.” + </p> + <p> + The old woman withdrew with a curtsey. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rawjester deliberately turned his back upon me and remained silent for + twenty minutes. I drew my shawl the more closely around my shoulders and + closed my eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You are the governess?” at length he said. + </p> + <p> + “I am, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “A creature who teaches geography, arithmetic, and the use of the globes—ha!—a + wretched remnant of femininity,—a skimp pattern of girlhood with a + premature flavor of tea-leaves and morality. Ugh!” + </p> + <p> + I bowed my head silently. + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me, girl!” he said sternly; “this child you have come to teach—my + ward—is not legitimate. She is the offspring of my mistress,—a + common harlot. Ah! Miss Mix, what do you think of me now?” + </p> + <p> + “I admire,” I replied calmly, “your sincerity. A mawkish regard for + delicacy might have kept this disclosure to yourself. I only recognize in + your frankness that perfect community of thought and sentiment which + should exist between original natures.” I looked up; he had already + forgotten my presence, and was engaged in pulling off his boots and coat. + This done, he sank down in an armchair before the fire, and ran the poker + wearily through his hair. I could not help pitying him. + </p> + <p> + The wind howled dismally without, and the rain beat furiously against the + windows. I crept toward him and seated myself on a low stool beside his + chair. + </p> + <p> + Presently he turned, without seeing me, and placed his foot absently in my + lap. I affected not to notice it. But he started and looked down. + </p> + <p> + “You here yet—Carrothead? Ah, I forgot. Do you speak French?” + </p> + <p> + “Oui, Monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Taisez-vous!” he said sharply, with singular purity of accent. I + complied. The wind moaned fearfully in the chimney, and the light burned + dimly. I shuddered in spite of myself. “Ah, you tremble, girl!” + </p> + <p> + “It is a fearful night.” + </p> + <p> + “Fearful! Call you this fearful? Ha! ha! ha! Look! you wretched little + atom, look!” and he dashed forward, and, leaping out of the window, stood + like a statue in the pelting storm, with folded arms. He did not stay + long, but in a few minutes returned by way of the hall chimney. I saw from + the way that he wiped his feet on my dress that he had again forgotten my + presence. + </p> + <p> + “You are a governess. What can you teach?” he asked, suddenly and fiercely + thrusting his face in mine. + </p> + <p> + “Manners!” I replied calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! teach <i>me!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “You mistake yourself,” I said, adjusting my mittens. “Your manners + require not the artificial restraint of society. You are radically polite; + this impetuosity and ferociousness is simply the sincerity which is the + basis of a proper deportment. Your instincts are moral; your better + nature, I see, is religious. As St. Paul justly remarks—see chap. 6, + 8, 9, and 10”— + </p> + <p> + He seized a heavy candlestick, and threw it at me. I dodged it + submissively but firmly. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” he remarked, as his under jaw slowly relaxed. “Excuse me, + Miss Mix—but I can’t stand St. Paul! Enough—you are engaged.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER IV + </h3> + <p> + I followed the housekeeper as she led the way timidly to my room. As we + passed into a dark hall in the wing, I noticed that it was closed by an + iron gate with a grating. Three of the doors on the corridor were likewise + grated. A strange noise, as of shuffling feet and the howling of + infuriated animals, rang through the hall. Bidding the housekeeper + good-night, and taking the candle, I entered my bedchamber. + </p> + <p> + I took off my dress, and putting on a yellow flannel nightgown, which I + could not help feeling did not agree with my complexion, I composed myself + to rest by reading Blair’s “Rhetoric” and Paley’s “Moral Philosophy.” I + had just put out the light, when I heard voices in the corridor. I + listened attentively. I recognized Mr. Rawjester’s stern tones. + </p> + <p> + “Have you fed No. One?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said a gruff voice, apparently belonging to a domestic. + </p> + <p> + “How’s No. Two?” + </p> + <p> + “She’s a little off her feed, just now, but will pick up in a day or two.” + </p> + <p> + “And No. Three?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly furious, sir. Her tantrums are ungovernable.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” + </p> + <p> + The voices died away, and I sank into a fitful slumber. + </p> + <p> + I dreamed that I was wandering through a tropical forest. Suddenly I saw + the figure of a gorilla approaching me. As it neared me, I recognized the + features of Mr. Rawjester. He held his hand to his side as if in pain. I + saw that he had been wounded. He recognized me and called me by name, but + at the same moment the vision changed to an Ashantee village, where, + around the fire, a group of negroes were dancing and participating in some + wild Obi festival. I awoke with the strain still ringing in my ears. + </p> + <p> + “Hokee-pokee wokee fum!” + </p> + <p> + Good Heavens! could I be dreaming? I heard the voice distinctly on the + floor below, and smelt something burning. I arose, with an indistinct + presentiment of evil, and hastily putting some cotton in my ears and tying + a towel about my head, I wrapped myself in a shawl and rushed downstairs. + The door of Mr. Rawjester’s room was open. I entered. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rawjester lay apparently in a deep slumber, from which even the clouds + of smoke that came from the burning curtains of his bed could not rouse + him. Around the room a large and powerful negress, scantily attired, with + her head adorned with feathers, was dancing wildly, accompanying herself + with bone castanets. It looked like some terrible fetich. + </p> + <p> + I did not lose my calmness. After firmly emptying the pitcher, basin, and + slop-jar on the burning bed, I proceeded cautiously to the garden, and + returning with the garden engine, I directed a small stream at Mr. + Rawjester. + </p> + <p> + At my entrance the gigantic negress fled. Mr. Rawjester yawned and woke. I + explained to him, as he rose dripping from the bed, the reason of my + presence. He did not seem to be excited, alarmed, or discomposed. He gazed + at me curiously. + </p> + <p> + “So you risked your life to save mine, eh? you canary-colored teacher of + infants.” + </p> + <p> + I blushed modestly, and drew my shawl tightly over my yellow flannel + nightgown. + </p> + <p> + “You love me, Mary Jane,—don’t deny it! This trembling shows it!” He + drew me closely toward him, and said, with his deep voice tenderly + modulated,—“How’s her pooty tootens,—did she get her ’ittle + tootens wet,—b’ess her?” + </p> + <p> + I understood his allusion to my feet. I glanced down and saw that in my + hurry I had put on a pair of his old india-rubbers. My feet were not small + or pretty, and the addition did not add to their beauty. + </p> + <p> + “Let me go, sir,” I remarked quietly. “This is entirely improper; it sets + a bad example for your child.” And I firmly but gently extricated myself + from his grasp. I approached the door. He seemed for a moment buried in + deep thought. + </p> + <p> + “You say this was a negress?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph, Number One, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is Number One, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “My <i>first</i>,” he remarked, with a significant and sarcastic smile. + Then, relapsing into his old manner, he threw his boots at my head, and + bade me begone. I withdrew calmly. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER V + </h3> + <p> + My pupil was a bright little girl, who spoke French with a perfect accent. + Her mother had been a “French ballet-dancer, which probably accounted for + it. Although she was only six years old, it was easy to perceive that she + had been several times in love. She once said to me,— + </p> + <p> + “Miss Mix, did you ever have the grande passion? Did you ever feel a + fluttering here?” and she placed her hand upon her small chest, and sighed + quaintly; “a kind of distaste for bonbons and caramels, when the world + seemed as tasteless and hollow as a broken cordial drop?” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have felt it, Nina?” I said quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear, yes. There was Buttons,—that was our page, you know,—I + loved him dearly, but papa sent him away. Then there was Dick, the groom; + but he laughed at me, and I suffered misery!” and she struck a tragic + French attitude. “There is to be company here to-morrow,” she added, + rattling on with childish naivete, “and papa’s sweetheart—Blanche + Marabout—is to be here. You know they say she is to be my mamma.” + </p> + <p> + What thrill was this shot through me? But I rose calmly, and administering + a slight correction to the child, left the apartment. + </p> + <p> + Blunderbore House, for the next week, was the scene of gayety and + merriment. That portion of the mansion closed with a grating was walled + up, and the midnight shrieks no longer troubled me. + </p> + <p> + But I felt more keenly the degradation of my situation. I was obliged to + help Lady Blanche at her toilet and help her to look beautiful. For what? + To captivate him? Oh—no, no,—but why this sudden thrill and + faintness? Did he really love her? I had seen him pinch and swear at her. + But I reflected that he had thrown a candlestick at my head, and my + foolish heart was reassured. + </p> + <p> + It was a night of festivity, when a sudden message obliged Mr. Rawjester + to leave his guests for a few hours. “Make yourselves merry, idiots,” he + added, under his breath, as he passed me. The door closed and he was gone. + </p> + <p> + A half-hour passed. In the midst of the dancing a shriek was heard, and + out of the swaying crowd of fainting women and excited men a wild figure + strode into the room. One glance showed it to be a highwayman, heavily + armed, holding a pistol in each hand. + </p> + <p> + “Let no one pass out of this room!” he said, in a voice of thunder. “The + house is surrounded and you cannot escape. The first one who crosses + yonder threshold will be shot like a dog. Gentlemen, I’ll trouble you to + approach in single file, and hand me your purses and watches.” + </p> + <p> + Finding resistance useless, the order was ungraciously obeyed. + </p> + <p> + “Now, ladies, please to pass up your jewelry and trinkets.” + </p> + <p> + This order was still more ungraciously complied with. As Blanche handed to + the bandit captain her bracelet, she endeavored to conceal a diamond + necklace, the gift of Mr. Rawjester, in her bosom. But, with a demoniac + grin, the powerful brute tore it from its concealment, and administering a + hearty box on the ear of the young girl, flung her aside. + </p> + <p> + It was now my turn. With a beating heart I made my way to the robber + chieftain, and sank at his feet. “Oh, sir, I am nothing but a poor + governess, pray let me go.” + </p> + <p> + “Oho! A governess? Give me your last month’s wages, then. Give me what you + have stolen from your master!” and he laughed fiendishly. + </p> + <p> + I gazed at him quietly, and said, in a low voice: “I have stolen nothing + from you, Mr. Rawjester!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, discovered! Hush! listen, girl!” he hissed, in a fierce whisper; + “utter a syllable to frustrate my plans, and you die; aid me, and”—But + he was gone. + </p> + <p> + In a few moments the party, with the exception of myself, were gagged and + locked in the cellar. The next moment torches were applied to the rich + hangings, and the house was in flames. I felt a strong hand seize me, and + bear me out in the open air and place me up on the hillside, where I could + overlook the burning mansion. It was Mr. Rawjester. “Burn!” he said, as he + shook his fist at the flames. Then sinking on his knees before me, he said + hurriedly,— + </p> + <p> + “Mary Jane, I love you; the obstacles to our union are or will be soon + removed. In yonder mansion were confined my three crazy wives. One of + them, as you know, attempted to kill me! Ha! this is vengeance! But will + you be mine?” + </p> + <p> + I fell, without a word, upon his neck. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + MR. MIDSHIPMAN BREEZY + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + A NAVAL OFFICER + </div> + <p> + BY CAPTAIN M-RRY-T, R. N. <a id="2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER I + </h3> + <p> + My father was a north-country surgeon. He had retired, a widower, from her + Majesty’s navy many years before, and had a small practice in his native + village. When I was seven years old he employed me to carry medicines to + his patients. Being of a lively disposition, I sometimes amused myself, + during my daily rounds, by mixing the contents of the different phials. + Although I had no reason to doubt that the general result of this practice + was beneficial, yet, as the death of a consumptive curate followed the + addition of a strong mercurial lotion to his expectorant, my father + concluded to withdraw me from the profession and send me to school. + </p> + <p> + Grubbins, the schoolmaster, was a tyrant, and it was not long before my + impetuous and self-willed nature rebelled against his authority. I soon + began to form plans of revenge. In this I was assisted by Tom Snaffle,—a + schoolfellow. One day Tom suggested,— + </p> + <p> + “Suppose we blow him up. I’ve got two pounds of powder!” + </p> + <p> + “No, that’s too noisy,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + Tom was silent for a minute, and again spoke:— + </p> + <p> + “You remember how you flattened out the curate, Pills? Couldn’t you give + Grubbins something—something to make him leathery sick—eh?” A + flash of inspiration crossed my mind. I went to the shop of the village + apothecary. He knew me; I had often purchased vitriol, which I poured into + Grubbins’s inkstand to corrode his pens and burn up his coat-tail, on which + he was in the habit of wiping them. I boldly asked for an ounce of + chloroform. The young apothecary winked and handed me the bottle. + </p> + <p> + It was Grubbins’s custom to throw his handkerchief over his head, recline + in his chair, and take a short nap during recess. Watching my opportunity, + as he dozed, I managed to slip his handkerchief from his face and + substitute my own, moistened with chloroform. In a few minutes he was + insensible. Tom and I then quickly shaved his head, beard, and eyebrows, + blackened his face with a mixture of vitriol and burnt cork, and fled. + There was a row and scandal the next day. My father always excused me by + asserting that Grubbins had got drunk,—but somehow found it + convenient to procure me an appointment in her Majesty’s navy at an early + day. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER II + </h3> + <p> + An official letter, with the Admiralty seal, informed me that I was + expected to join H. M. ship Belcher, Captain Boltrope, at Portsmouth, + without delay. In a few days I presented myself to a tall, stern-visaged + man, who was slowly pacing the leeward side of the quarter-deck. As I + touched my hat he eyed me sternly:— + </p> + <p> + “So ho! Another young suckling. The service is going to the devil. Nothing + but babes in the cockpit and grannies in the board. Boatswain’s mate, pass + the word for Mr. Cheek!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cheek, the steward, appeared and touched his hat. + </p> + <p> + “Introduce Mr. Breezy to the young gentlemen. Stop! Where’s Mr. Swizzle?” + </p> + <p> + “At the masthead, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Where’s Mr. Lankey?” + </p> + <p> + “At the masthead, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Briggs?” + </p> + <p> + “Masthead, too, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “And the rest of the young gentlemen?” roared the enraged officer. + </p> + <p> + “All masthead, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Captain Boltrope, as he smiled grimly, “under the + circumstances, Mr. Breezy, you had better go to the masthead too.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER III + </h3> + <p> + At the masthead I made the acquaintance of two youngsters of about my own + age, one of whom informed me that he had been there three hundred and + thirty-two days out of the year. + </p> + <p> + “In rough weather, when the old cock is out of sorts, you know, we never + come down,” added a young gentleman of nine years, with a dirk nearly as + long as himself, who had been introduced to me as Mr. Briggs. “By the way, + Pills,” he continued, “how did you come to omit giving the captain a naval + salute?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I touched my hat,” I said innocently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but that isn’t enough, you know. That will do very well at other + times. He expects the naval salute when you first come on board—greeny!” + </p> + <p> + I began to feel alarmed, and begged him to explain. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you see, after touching your hat, you should have touched him + lightly with your forefinger in his waistcoat, so, and asked, ‘How’s his + nibs?’—you see?” + </p> + <p> + “How’s his nibs?” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. He would have drawn back a little, and then you should have + repeated the salute, remarking, ‘How’s his royal nibs?’ asking cautiously + after his wife and family, and requesting to be introduced to the gunner’s + daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “The gunner’s daughter?” + </p> + <p> + “The same; you know she takes care of us young gentlemen; now don’t + forget, Pillsy!” + </p> + <p> + When we were called down to the deck I thought it a good chance to profit + by this instruction. I approached Captain Boltrope and repeated the salute + without conscientiously omitting a single detail. He remained for a moment + livid and speechless. At length he gasped out,— + </p> + <p> + “Boatswain’s mate!” + </p> + <p> + “If you please, sir,” I asked tremulously, “I should like to be introduced + to the gunner’s daughter!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very good, sir!” screamed Captain Boltrope, rubbing his hands and + absolutely capering about the deck with rage. “Oh, d—n you! Of + course you shall! Oh, ho! the gunner’s daughter! Oh, h—ll! this is + too much! Boatswain’s mate!” Before I well knew where I was, I was seized, + borne to an eight-pounder, tied upon it, and flogged! + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER IV + </h3> + <p> + As we sat together in the cockpit, picking the weevils out of our biscuit, + Briggs consoled me for my late mishap, adding that the “naval salute,” as + a custom, seemed just then to be honored more in the <i>breach</i> than + the observance. I joined in the hilarity occasioned by the witticism, and + in a few moments we were all friends. Presently Swizzle turned to me:— + </p> + <p> + “We have just been planning how to confiscate a keg of claret, which Nips, + the purser, keeps under his bunk. The old nipcheese lies there drunk half + the day, and there’s no getting at it.” + </p> + <p> + “Let’s get beneath the stateroom and bore through the deck, and so tap + it,” said Lankey. + </p> + <p> + The proposition was received with a shout of applause. A long half-inch + auger and bit was procured from Chips, the carpenter’s mate, and Swizzle, + after a careful examination of the timbers beneath the wardroom, commenced + operations. The auger at last disappeared, when suddenly there was a + slight disturbance on the deck above. Swizzle withdrew the auger + hurriedly; from its point a few bright red drops trickled. + </p> + <p> + “Huzza! send her up again!” cried Lankey. + </p> + <p> + The auger was again applied. This time a shriek was heard from the + purser’s cabin. Instantly the light was doused, and the party retreated + hurriedly to the cockpit. A sound of snoring was heard as the sentry stuck + his head into the door. “All right, sir,” he replied in answer to the + voice of the officer of the deck. + </p> + <p> + The next morning we heard that Nips was in the surgeon’s hands, with a bad + wound in the fleshy part of his leg, and that the auger had <i>not</i> + struck claret. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER V + </h3> + <p> + “Now, Pills, you’ll have a chance to smell powder,” said Briggs as he + entered the cockpit and buckled around his waist an enormous cutlass. “We + have just sighted a French ship.” + </p> + <p> + We went on deck. Captain Boltrope grinned as we touched our hats. He hated + the purser. “Come, young gentlemen, if you’re boring for French claret, + yonder’s a good quality. Mind your con, sir,” he added, turning to the + quartermaster, who was grinning. + </p> + <p> + The ship was already cleared for action. The men, in their eagerness, had + started the coffee from the tubs and filled them with shot. Presently the + Frenchman yawed, and a shot from a long thirty-two came skipping over the + water. It killed the quartermaster and took off both of Lankey’s legs. + “Tell the purser our account is squared,” said the dying boy, with a + feeble smile. + </p> + <p> + The fight raged fiercely for two hours. I remember killing the French + admiral, as we boarded, but on looking around for Briggs, after the smoke + had cleared away, I was intensely amused at witnessing the following novel + sight: + </p> + <p> + Briggs had pinned the French captain against the mast with his cutlass, + and was now engaged, with all the hilarity of youth, in pulling the + Captain’s coat-tails between his legs, in imitation of a dancing-jack. As + the Frenchman lifted his legs and arms, at each jerk of Briggs’s, I could + not help participating in the general mirth. + </p> + <p> + “You young devil, what are you doing?” said a stifled voice behind me. I + looked up and beheld Captain Boltrope, endeavoring to calm his stern + features, but the twitching around his mouth betrayed his intense + enjoyment of the scene. “Go to the masthead—up with you, sir!” he + repeated sternly to Briggs. + </p> + <p> + “Very good, sir,” said the boy, coolly preparing to mount the shrouds. + “Good-by, Johnny Crapaud. Humph!” he added, in a tone intended for my ear, + “a pretty way to treat a hero. The service is going to the devil!” + </p> + <p> + I thought so too. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER VI + </h3> + <p> + We were ordered to the West Indies. Although Captain Boltrope’s manner + toward me was still severe, and even harsh, I understood that my name had + been favorably mentioned in the dispatches. + </p> + <p> + Reader, were you ever at Jamaica? If so, you remember the negresses, the + oranges, Port Royal Tom—the yellow fever. After being two weeks at + the station, I was taken sick of the fever. In a month I was delirious. + During my paroxysms, I had a wild distempered dream of a stern face + bending anxiously over my pillow, a rough hand smoothing my hair, and a + kind voice saying:— + </p> + <p> + “B’ess his ’ittle heart! Did he have the naughty fever?” This face seemed + again changed to the well-known stern features of Captain Boltrope. + </p> + <p> + When I was convalescent, a packet edged in black was put in my hand. It + contained the news of my father’s death, and a sealed letter which he had + requested to be given to me on his decease. I opened it tremblingly. It + read thus:— + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR BOY,—I regret to inform you that in all probability you are + not my son. Your mother, I am grieved to say, was a highly improper + person. Who your father may be, I really cannot say, but perhaps the + Honorable Henry Boltrope, Captain R. N., may be able to inform you. + Circumstances over which I have no control have deferred this important + disclosure. YOUR STRICKEN PARENT. + </p> + <p> + And so Captain Boltrope was my father. Heavens! Was it a dream? I recalled + his stern manner, his observant eye, his ill-concealed uneasiness when in + my presence. I longed to embrace him. Staggering to my feet, I rushed in + my scanty apparel to the deck, where Captain Boltrope was just then + engaged in receiving the Governor’s wife and daughter. The ladies + shrieked; the youngest, a beautiful girl, blushed deeply. Heeding them + not, I sank at his feet, and, embracing them, cried,— + </p> + <p> + “My father!” + </p> + <p> + “Chuck him overboard!” roared Captain Boltrope. + </p> + <p> + “Stay,” pleaded the soft voice of Clara Maitland, the Governor’s daughter. + </p> + <p> + “Shave his head! he’s a wretched lunatic!” continued Captain Boltrope, + while his voice trembled with excitement. + </p> + <p> + “No, let me nurse and take care of him,” said the lovely girl, blushing as + she spoke. “Mamma, can’t we take him home?” + </p> + <p> + The daughter’s pleading was not without effect. In the meantime I had + fainted. When I recovered my senses I found myself in Governor Maitland’s + mansion. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER VII + </h3> + <p> + The reader will guess what followed. I fell deeply in love with Clara + Maitland, to whom I confided the secret of my birth. The generous girl + asserted that she had detected the superiority of my manner at once. We + plighted our troth, and resolved to wait upon events. + </p> + <p> + Briggs called to see me a few days afterward. He said that the purser had + insulted the whole cockpit, and all the midshipmen had called him out. But + he added thoughtfully: “I don’t see how we can arrange the duel. You see + there are six of us to fight him.” + </p> + <p> + “Very easily,” I replied. “Let your fellows all stand in a row, and take + his fire; that, you see, gives him six chances to one, and he must be a + bad shot if he can’t hit one of you; while, on the other hand, you see, he + gets a volley from you six, and one of you’ll be certain to fetch him.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly;” and away Briggs went, but soon returned to say that the purser + had declined,—“like a d—d coward,” he added. + </p> + <p> + But the news of the sudden and serious illness of Captain Boltrope put off + the duel. I hastened to his bedside, but too late,—an hour previous + he had given up the ghost. + </p> + <p> + I resolved to return to England. I made known the secret of my birth, and + exhibited my adopted father’s letter to Lady Maitland, who at once + suggested my marriage with her daughter, before I returned to claim the + property. We were married, and took our departure next day. + </p> + <p> + I made no delay in posting at once, in company with my wife and my friend + Briggs, to my native village. Judge of my horror and surprise when my late + adopted father came out of his shop to welcome me. + </p> + <p> + “Then you are not dead!” I gasped. + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear boy.” + </p> + <p> + “And this letter?” + </p> + <p> + My father—as I must still call him—glanced on the paper, and + pronounced it a forgery. Briggs roared with laughter. I turned to him and + demanded an explanation. + </p> + <p> + “Why, don’t you see, Greeny, it’s all a joke,—a midshipman’s joke!” + </p> + <p> + “But”—I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be a fool. You’ve got a good wife,—be satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + I turned to Clara, and was satisfied. Although Mrs. Maitland never forgave + me, the jolly old Governor laughed heartily over the joke, and so well + used his influence that I soon became, dear reader, Admiral Breezy, K. C. + B. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + GUY HEAVYSTONE; OR, “ENTIRE” + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + A MUSCULAR NOVEL + </div> + <p> + BY THE AUTHOR OF “SWORD AND GUN” <a id="2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER I + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + “NEREI REPANDIROSTRUM INCURVICERVICUM PECUS.” + </div> + <p> + A Dingy, swashy, splashy afternoon in October; a school-yard filled with a + mob of riotous boys. A lot of us standing outside. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly came a dull, crashing sound from the schoolroom. At the ominous + interruption I shuddered involuntarily, and called to Smithsye,— + </p> + <p> + “What’s up, Smithums?” + </p> + <p> + “Guy’s cleaning out the fourth form,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + At the same moment George de Coverly passed me, holding his nose, from + whence the bright Norman blood streamed redly. To him the plebeian + Smithsye laughingly,— + </p> + <p> + “Cully! how’s his nibs?” + </p> + <p> + I pushed the door of the schoolroom open. There are some spectacles which + a man never forgets. The burning of Troy probably seemed a large-sized + conflagration to the pious Aeneas, and made an impression on him which he + carried away with the feeble Anchises. + </p> + <p> + In the centre of the room, lightly brandishing the piston-rod of a + steam-engine, stood Guy Heavystone alone. I say alone, for the pile of + small boys on the floor in the corner could hardly be called company. + </p> + <p> + I will try and sketch him for the reader. Guy Heavystone was then only + fifteen. His broad, deep chest, his sinewy and quivering flank, his + straight pastern, showed him to be a thoroughbred. Perhaps he was a trifle + heavy in the fetlock, but he held his head haughtily erect. His eyes were + glittering but pitiless. There was a sternness about the lower part of his + face,—the old Heavystone look,—a sternness heightened, + perhaps, by the snaffle-bit which, in one of his strange freaks, he wore + in his mouth to curb his occasional ferocity. His dress was well adapted + to his square-set and herculean frame. A striped knit undershirt, + close-fitting striped tights, and a few spangles set off his figure; a + neat Glengarry cap adorned his head. On it was displayed the Heavystone + crest, a cock <i>regardant</i> on a dunghill <i>or</i>, and the motto, + “Devil a better!” + </p> + <p> + I thought of Horatius on the bridge, of Hector before the walls. I always + make it a point to think of something classical at such times. + </p> + <p> + He saw me, and his sternness partly relaxed. Something like a smile + struggled through his grim lineaments. It was like looking on the Jungfrau + after having seen Mont Blanc,—a trifle, only a trifle less sublime + and awful. Resting his hand lightly on the shoulder of the headmaster, who + shuddered and collapsed under his touch, he strode toward me. + </p> + <p> + His walk was peculiar. You could not call it a stride. It was like the + “crest-tossing Bellerophon,”—a kind of prancing gait. Guy Heavystone + pranced toward me. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER II + </h3> +<div class='pre'> + “Lord Lovel he stood at the garden gate, + A-combing his milk-white steed.” + </div> + <p> + It was the winter of 186- when I next met Guy Heavystone. He had left the + university and had entered the 79th “Heavies.” “I have exchanged the gown + for the sword, you see,” he said, grasping my hand, and fracturing the + bones of my little finger, as he shook it. + </p> + <p> + I gazed at him with unmixed admiration. He was squarer, sterner, and in + every way smarter and more remarkable than ever. I began to feel toward + this man as Phalaster felt towards Phyrgino, as somebody must have felt + toward Archididasculus, as Boswell felt toward Johnson. + </p> + <p> + “Come into my den,” he said; and lifting me gently by the seat of my + pantaloons he carried me upstairs and deposited me, before I could + apologize, on the sofa. I looked around the room. It was a bachelor’s + apartment, characteristically furnished in the taste of the proprietor. A + few claymores and battleaxes were ranged against the wall, and a culverin, + captured by Sir Ralph Heavystone, occupied the corner, the other end of + the room being taken up by a light battery. Foils, boxing-gloves, saddles, + and fishing-poles lay around carelessly. A small pile of billets-doux lay + upon a silver salver. The man was not an anchorite, nor yet a Sir Galahad. + </p> + <p> + I never could tell what Guy thought of women. “Poor little beasts,” he + would often say when the conversation turned on any of his fresh + conquests. Then, passing his hand over his marble brow, the old look of + stern fixedness of purpose and unflinching severity would straighten the + lines of his mouth, and he would mutter, half to himself, “S’death!” + </p> + <p> + “Come with me to Heavystone Grange. The Exmoor hounds throw off to-morrow. + I’ll give you a mount,” he said, as he amused himself by rolling up a + silver candlestick between his fingers. “You shall have Cleopatra. But + stay,” he added thoughtfully; “now I remember, I ordered Cleopatra to be + shot this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “And why?” I queried. + </p> + <p> + “She threw her rider yesterday and fell on him”— + </p> + <p> + “And killed him?” + </p> + <p> + “No. That’s the reason why I have ordered her to be shot. I keep no + animals that are not dangerous—I should add—<i>deadly!</i>” He + hissed the last sentence between his teeth, and a gloomy frown descended + over his calm brow. + </p> + <p> + I affected to turn over the tradesmen’s bills that lay on the table, for, + like all of the Heavystone race, Guy seldom paid cash, and said,— + </p> + <p> + “You remind me of the time when Leonidas”— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bother Leonidas and your classical allusions. Come!” + </p> + <p> + We descended to dinner. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER III + </h3> +<div class='pre'> + “He carries weight, he rides a race, + ’Tis for a thousand pound.” + </div> + <p> + “There is Flora Billingsgate, the greatest coquette and hardest rider in + the country,” said my companion, Ralph Mortmain, as we stood upon Dingleby + Common before the meet. + </p> + <p> + I looked up and beheld Guy Heavystone bending haughtily over the saddle, + as he addressed a beautiful brunette. She was indeed a splendidly groomed + and high-spirited woman. We were near enough to overhear the following + conversation, which any high-toned reader will recognize as the common and + natural expression of the higher classes. + </p> + <p> + “When Diana takes the field the chase is not wholly confined to objects + ferae nature,” said Guy, darting a significant glance at his companion. + Flora did not shrink either from the glance or the meaning implied in the + sarcasm. + </p> + <p> + “If I were looking for an Endymion, now,”—she said archly, as she + playfully cantered over a few hounds and leaped a five-barred gate. + </p> + <p> + Guy whispered a few words, inaudible to the rest of the party, and + curveting slightly, cleverly cleared two of the huntsmen in a flying leap, + galloped up the front steps of the mansion, and, dashing at full speed + through the hall, leaped through the drawing-room window and rejoined me, + languidly, on the lawn. + </p> + <p> + “Be careful of Flora Billingsgate,” he said to me, in low stern tones, + while his pitiless eye shot a baleful fire. “Gardez-vous!” + </p> + <p> + “Gnothi seauton,” I replied calmly, not wishing to appear to be behind him + in perception or verbal felicity. + </p> + <p> + Guy started off in high spirits. He was well carried. He and the first + whip, a ten-stone man, were head and head at the last fence, while the + hounds were rolling over their fox a hundred yards farther in the open. + </p> + <p> + But an unexpected circumstance occurred. Coming back, his chestnut mare + refused a ten-foot wall. She reared and fell backward. Again he led her up + to it lightly; again she refused, falling heavily from the coping. Guy + started to his feet. The old pitiless fire shone in his eyes; the old + stern look settled around his mouth. Seizing the mare by the tail and mane + he threw her over the wall. She landed twenty feet on the other side, + erect and trembling. Lightly leaping the same obstacle himself, he + remounted her. She did not refuse the wall the next time. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER IV + </h3> + <p> + “He holds him by his glittering eye.” + </p> + <p> + Guy was in the north of Ireland, cock-shooting. So Ralph Mortmain told me, + and also that the match between Mary Brandagee and Guy had been broken off + by Flora Billingsgate. “I don’t like those Billingsgates,” said Ralph, + “they’re a bad stock. Her father, Smithfield de Billingsgate, had an + unpleasant way of turning up the knave from the bottom of the pack. But + nous varrons; let us go and see Guy.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning we started for Fin-ma-Coul’s Crossing. When I reached the + shooting-box, where Guy was entertaining a select company of friends, + Flora Billingsgate greeted me with a saucy smile. Guy was even squarer and + sterner than ever. His gusts of passion were more frequent, and it was + with difficulty that he could keep an able-bodied servant in his family. + His present retainers were more or less maimed from exposure to the fury + of their master. There was a strange cynicism, a cutting sarcasm in his + address, piercing through his polished manner. I thought of Timon, etc., + etc. + </p> + <p> + One evening, we were sitting over our Chambertin, after a hard day’s work, + and Guy was listlessly turning over some letters, when suddenly he uttered + a cry. Did you ever hear the trumpeting of a wounded elephant? It was like + that. + </p> + <p> + I looked at him with consternation. He was glancing at a letter which he + held at arm’s length, and snorting, as it were, at it as he gazed. The + lower part of his face was stern, but not as rigid as usual. He was slowly + grinding between his teeth the fragments of the glass he had just been + drinking from. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he seized one of his servants, and forcing the wretch upon his + knees, exclaimed, with the roar of a tiger,— + </p> + <p> + “Dog! why was this kept from me?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, please sir, Miss Flora said as how it was a reconciliation from Miss + Brandagee, and it was to be kept from you where you would not be likely to + see it,—and—and”— + </p> + <p> + “Speak, dog! and you”— + </p> + <p> + “I put it among your bills, sir!” + </p> + <p> + With a groan, like distant thunder, Guy fell swooning to the floor. + </p> + <p> + He soon recovered, for the next moment a servant came rushing into the + room with the information that a number of the ingenuous peasantry of the + neighborhood were about to indulge that evening in the national pastime of + burning a farmhouse and shooting a landlord. Guy smiled a fearful smile, + without, however, altering his stern and pitiless expression. + </p> + <p> + “Let them come,” he said calmly; “I feel like entertaining company.” + </p> + <p> + We barricaded the doors and windows, and then chose our arms from the + armory. Guy’s choice was a singular one: it was a landing-net with a long + handle, and a sharp cavalry sabre. + </p> + <p> + We were not destined to remain long in ignorance of its use. A howl was + heard from without, and a party of fifty or sixty armed men precipitated + themselves against the door. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the window opened. With the rapidity of lightning, Guy Heavystone + cast the net over the head of the ringleader, ejaculated “Habet!” and with + a backstroke of his cavalry sabre severed the member from its trunk, and + drawing the net back again, cast the gory head upon the floor, saying + quietly,— + </p> + <p> + “One.” + </p> + <p> + Again the net was cast, the steel flashed, the net was withdrawn, and an + ominous “Two!” accompanied the head as it rolled on the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember what Pliny says of the gladiator?” said Guy, calmly + wiping his sabre. “How graphic is that passage commencing ‘Inter nos,’ + etc.” The sport continued until the heads of twenty desperadoes had been + gathered in. The rest seemed inclined to disperse. Guy incautiously showed + himself at the door; a ringing shot was heard, and he staggered back, + pierced through the heart. Grasping the doorpost in the last unconscious + throes of his mighty frame, the whole side of the house yielded to that + earthquake tremor, and we had barely time to escape before the whole + building fell in ruins. I thought of Samson, the giant judge, etc., etc.; + but all was over. + </p> + <p> + Guy Heavystone had died as he had lived,—<i>hard.</i> + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + JOHN JENKINS + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + OR + </div> + <p> + THE SMOKER REFORMED BY T. S. A-TH-R <a id="2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER I + </h3> + <p> + “One cigar a day!” said Judge Boompointer. + </p> + <p> + “One cigar a day!” repeated John Jenkins, as with trepidation he dropped + his half-consumed cigar under his work-bench. + </p> + <p> + “One cigar a day is three cents a day,” remarked Judge Boompointer + gravely; “and do you know, sir, what one cigar a day, or three cents a + day, amounts to in the course of four years?” + </p> + <p> + John Jenkins, in his boyhood, had attended the village school, and + possessed considerable arithmetical ability. Taking up a shingle which lay + upon his work-bench, and producing a piece of chalk, with a feeling of + conscious pride he made an exhaustive calculation. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly forty-three dollars and eighty cents,” he replied, wiping the + perspiration from his heated brow, while his face flushed with honest + enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, if you saved three cents a day, instead of wasting it, you + would now be the possessor of a new suit of clothes, an illustrated Family + Bible, a pew in the church, a complete set of Patent Office Reports, a + hymnbook, and a paid subscription to ‘Arthur’s Home Magazine,’ which could + be purchased for exactly forty-three dollars and eighty cents; and,” added + the Judge, with increasing sternness, “if you calculate leap-year, which + you seem to have strangely omitted, you have three cents more, sir—<i>three + cents more!</i> What would that buy you, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “A cigar,” suggested John Jenkins; but, coloring again deeply, he hid his + face. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” said the Judge, with a sweet smile of benevolence stealing over + his stern features; “properly invested, it would buy you that which + passeth all price. Dropped into the missionary-box, who can tell what + heathen, now idly and joyously wantoning in nakedness and sin, might be + brought to a sense of his miserable condition, and made, through that + three cents, to feel the torments of the wicked?” + </p> + <p> + With these words the Judge retired, leaving John Jenkins buried in + profound thought. “Three cents a day,” he muttered. “In forty years I + might be worth four hundred and thirty-eight dollars and ten cents,—and + then I might marry Mary. Ah, Mary!” The young carpenter sighed, and + drawing a twenty-five cent daguerreotype from his vest-pocket, gazed long + and fervidly upon the features of a young girl in book muslin and a coral + necklace. Then, with a resolute expression, he carefully locked the door + of his work-shop, and departed. + </p> + <p> + Alas! his good resolutions were too late. We trifle with the tide of + fortune, which too often nips us in the bud and casts the dark shadow of + misfortune over the bright lexicon of youth! That night the half-consumed + fragment of John Jenkins’s cigar set fire to his work-shop and burned it + up, together with all his tools and materials. There was no insurance. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER II + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + THE DOWNWARD PATH + </div> + <p> + “Then you still persist in marrying John Jenkins?” queried Judge + Boompointer, as he playfully, with paternal familiarity, lifted the golden + curls of the village belle, Mary Jones. + </p> + <p> + “I do,” replied the fair young girl, in a low voice that resembled rock + candy in its saccharine firmness,—“I do. He has promised to reform. + Since he lost all his property by fire”— + </p> + <p> + “The result of his pernicious habit, though he illogically persists in + charging it to me,” interrupted the Judge. + </p> + <p> + “Since then,” continued the young girl, “he has endeavored to break + himself of the habit. He tells me that he has substituted the stalks of + the Indian rattan, the outer part of a leguminous plant called the + smoking-bean, and the fragmentary and unconsumed remainder of cigars, + which occur at rare and uncertain intervals along the road, which, as he + informs me, though deficient in quality and strength, are comparatively + inexpensive.” And blushing at her own eloquence, the young girl hid her + curls on the Judge’s arm. + </p> + <p> + “Poor thing!” muttered Judge Boompointer. “Dare I tell her all? Yet I + must.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall cling to him,” continued the young girl, rising with her theme, + “as the young vine clings to some hoary ruin. Nay, nay, chide me not, + Judge Boompointer. I will marry John Jenkins!” + </p> + <p> + The Judge was evidently affected. Seating himself at the table, he wrote a + few lines hurriedly upon a piece of paper, which he folded and placed in + the fingers of the destined bride of John Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + “Mary Jones,” said the Judge, with impressive earnestness, “take this + trifle as a wedding gift from one who respects your fidelity and + truthfulness. At the altar let it be a reminder of me.” And covering his + face hastily with a handkerchief, the stern and iron-willed man left the + room. As the door closed, Mary unfolded the paper. It was an order on the + corner grocery for three yards of flannel, a paper of needles, four pounds + of soap, one pound of starch, and two boxes of matches! + </p> + <p> + “Noble and thoughtful man!” was all Mary Jones could exclaim, as she hid + her face in her hands and burst into a flood of tears. + </p> + <p> + The bells of Cloverdale are ringing merrily. It is a wedding. “How + beautiful they look!” is the exclamation that passes from lip to lip, as + Mary Jones, leaning timidly on the arm of John Jenkins, enters the church. + But the bride is agitated, and the bridegroom betrays a feverish + nervousness. As they stand in the vestibule, John Jenkins fumbles + earnestly in his vest-pocket. Can it be the ring he is anxious about? No. + He draws a small brown substance from his pocket, and biting off a piece, + hastily replaces the fragment and gazes furtively around. Surely no one + saw him? Alas! the eyes of two of that wedding party saw the fatal act. + Judge Boompointer shook his head sternly. Mary Jones sighed and breathed a + silent prayer. Her husband chewed! + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER III AND LAST + </h3> + <p> + “What! more bread?” said John Jenkins gruffly. “You’re always asking for + money for bread. D—nation! Do you want to ruin me by your + extravagance?” and as he uttered these words he drew from his pocket a + bottle of whiskey, a pipe, and a paper of tobacco. Emptying the first at a + draught, he threw the empty bottle at the head of his eldest boy, a youth + of twelve summers. The missile struck the child full in the temple, and + stretched him a lifeless corpse. Mrs. Jenkins, whom the reader will hardly + recognize as the once gay and beautiful Mary Jones, raised the dead body + of her son in her arms, and carefully placing the unfortunate youth beside + the pump in the back yard, returned with saddened step to the house. At + another time, and in brighter days, she might have wept at the occurrence. + She was past tears now. + </p> + <p> + “Father, your conduct is reprehensible!” said little Harrison Jenkins, the + youngest boy. “Where do you expect to go when you die?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said John Jenkins fiercely; “this comes of giving children a liberal + education; this is the result of Sabbath-schools. Down, viper!” + </p> + <p> + A tumbler thrown from the same parental fist laid out the youthful + Harrison cold. The four other children had, in the mean time, gathered + around the table with anxious expectancy. With a chuckle, the now changed + and brutal John Jenkins produced four pipes, and filling them with + tobacco, handed one to each of his offspring and bade them smoke. “It’s + better than bread!” laughed the wretch hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + Mary Jenkins, though of a patient nature, felt it her duty now to speak. + “I have borne much, John Jenkins,” she said. “But I prefer that the + children should not smoke. It is an unclean habit, and soils their + clothes. I ask this as a special favor!” + </p> + <p> + John Jenkins hesitated,—the pangs of remorse began to seize him. + </p> + <p> + “Promise me this, John!” urged Mary upon her knees. + </p> + <p> + “I promise!” reluctantly answered John. + </p> + <p> + “And you will put the money in a savings-bank?” + </p> + <p> + “I will,” repeated her husband; “and I’ll give up smoking, too.” + </p> + <p> + “’Tis well, John Jenkins!” said Judge Boompointer, appearing suddenly from + behind the door, where he had been concealed during this interview. “Nobly + said! my man. Cheer up! I will see that the children are decently buried.” + The husband and wife fell into each other’s arms. And Judge Boompointer, + gazing upon the affecting spectacle, burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + From that day John Jenkins was an altered man. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0053"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + FANTINE + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + AFTER THE FRENCH OF VICTOR HUGO + </div> + <p> + <a id="2H_PROL"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + PROLOGUE + </h3> +<div class='pre'> + As long as there shall exist three paradoxes, a moral Frenchman, a + religious atheist, and a believing skeptic; so long, in fact, as + booksellers shall wait—say twenty-live years—for a new gospel; + so long as paper shall remain cheap and ink three sous a bottle, I + have no hesitation in saying that such books as these are not + utterly profitless. VICTOR HUGO. +</div> + <p> + To be good is to be queer. What is a good man? Bishop Myriel. + </p> + <p> + My friend, you will possibly object to this. You will say you know what a + good man is. Perhaps you will say your clergyman is a good man, for + instance. Bah! you are mistaken; you are an Englishman, and an Englishman + is a beast. + </p> + <p> + Englishmen think they are moral when they are only serious. These + Englishmen also wear ill-shaped hats, and dress horribly! + </p> + <p> + Bah! they are canaille. + </p> + <p> + Still, Bishop Myriel was a good man,—quite as good as you. Better + than you, in fact. + </p> + <p> + One day M. Myriel was in Paris. This angel used to walk about the streets + like any other man. He was not proud, though fine-looking. Well, three + gamins de Paris called him bad names. Says one,— + </p> + <p> + “Ah, mon Dieu! there goes a priest; look out for your eggs and chickens!” + What did this good man do? He called to them kindly. + </p> + <p> + “My children,” said he, “this is clearly not your fault. I recognize in + this insult and irreverence only the fault of your immediate progenitors. + Let us pray for your immediate progenitors.” + </p> + <p> + They knelt down and prayed for their immediate progenitors. + </p> + <p> + The effect was touching. + </p> + <p> + The Bishop looked calmly around. + </p> + <p> + “On reflection,” said he gravely, “I was mistaken; this is clearly the + fault of Society. Let us pray for Society.” + </p> + <p> + They knelt down and prayed for Society. + </p> + <p> + The effect was sublimer yet. What do you think of that? You, I mean. + </p> + <p> + Everybody remembers the story of the Bishop and Mother Nez Retrousse. Old + Mother Nez Retrousse sold asparagus. She was poor; there’s a great deal of + meaning in that word, my friend. Some people say “poor but honest.” I say, + Bah! + </p> + <p> + Bishop Myriel bought six bunches of asparagus. This good man had one + charming failing: he was fond of asparagus. He gave her a franc, and + received three sous change. + </p> + <p> + The sous were bad,—counterfeit. What did this good Bishop do? He + said: “I should not have taken change from a poor woman.” + </p> + <p> + Then afterwards, to his housekeeper: “Never take change from a poor + woman.” + </p> + <p> + Then he added to himself: “For the sous will probably be bad.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <p> + When a man commits a crime, Society claps him in prison. A prison is one + of the worst hotels imaginable. + </p> + <p> + The people there are low and vulgar. The butter is bad, the coffee is + green. Ah, it is horrible! + </p> + <p> + In prison, as in a bad hotel, a man soon loses, not only his morals, but + what is much worse to a Frenchman, his sense of refinement and delicacy. + </p> + <p> + Jean Valjean came from prison with confused notions of Society. He forgot + the modern peculiarities of hospitality. So he walked off with the + Bishop’s candlesticks. + </p> + <p> + Let us consider. Candlesticks were stolen; that was evident. Society put + Jean Valjean in prison; that was evident, too. In prison, Society took + away his refinement; that is evident, likewise. + </p> + <p> + Who is Society? + </p> + <p> + You and I are Society. + </p> + <p> + My friend, you and I stole those candlesticks! + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + III + </h3> + <p> + The Bishop thought so, too. He meditated profoundly for six days. On the + morning of the seventh he went to the Prefecture of Police. + </p> + <p> + He said: “Monsieur, have me arrested. I have stolen candlesticks.” + </p> + <p> + The official was governed by the law of Society, and refused. + </p> + <p> + What did this Bishop do? + </p> + <p> + He had a charming ball and chain made, affixed to his leg, and wore it the + rest of his life. This is a fact! + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + IV + </h3> + <p> + Love is a mystery. + </p> + <p> + A little friend of mine down in the country, at Auvergne, said to me one + day: “Victor, Love is the world,—it contains everything.” + </p> + <p> + She was only sixteen, this sharp-witted little girl, and a beautiful + blonde. She thought everything of me. + </p> + <p> + Fantine was one of those women who do wrong in the most virtuous and + touching manner. This is a peculiarity of French grisettes. + </p> + <p> + You are an Englishman, and you don’t understand. Learn, my friend, learn. + Come to Paris and improve your morals. + </p> + <p> + Fantine was the soul of modesty. She always wore high-neck dresses. + High-neck dresses are a sign of modesty. + </p> + <p> + Fantine loved Tholmoyes. Why? My God! What are you to do? It was the fault + of her parents, and she hadn’t any. How shall you teach her? You must + teach the parent if you wish to educate the child. How would you become + virtuous? + </p> + <p> + Teach your grandmother! + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + V + </h3> + <p> + When Tholmoyes ran away from Fantine,—which was done in a charming, + gentlemanly manner,—Fantine became convinced that a rigid sense of + propriety might look upon her conduct as immoral. She was a creature of + sensitiveness,—and her eyes were opened. + </p> + <p> + She was virtuous still, and resolved to break off the liaison at once. + </p> + <p> + So she put up her wardrobe and baby in a bundle, child as she was, she + loved them both,—then left Paris. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0059"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + VI + </h3> + <p> + Fantine’s native place had changed. + </p> + <p> + M. Madeline—an angel, and inventor of jet-work—had been + teaching the villagers how to make spurious jet. + </p> + <p> + This is a progressive age. Those Americans—children of the West,—they + make nutmegs out of wood. + </p> + <p> + I, myself, have seen hams made of pine, in the wigwams of those children + of the forest. + </p> + <p> + But civilization has acquired deception too. Society is made up of + deception. Even the best French society. + </p> + <p> + Still there was one sincere episode. + </p> + <p> + Eh? + </p> + <p> + The French Revolution! + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0060"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + VII + </h3> + <p> + M. Madeline was, if anything, better than Myriel. + </p> + <p> + M. Myriel was a saint. M. Madeline a good man. + </p> + <p> + M. Myriel was dead. M. Madeline was living. + </p> + <p> + That made all the difference. + </p> + <p> + M. Madeline made virtue profitable. I have seen it written,— + </p> + <p> + “Be virtuous and you will be happy.” + </p> + <p> + Where did I see this written? In the modern Bible? No. In the Koran? No. + In Rousseau? No. Diderot? No. Where then? + </p> + <p> + In a copy-book. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0061"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + VIII + </h3> + <p> + M. Madeline was M. le Maire. + </p> + <p> + This is how it came about. + </p> + <p> + For a long time he refused the honor. One day an old woman, standing on + the steps, said,— + </p> + <p> + “Bah, a good mayor is a good thing. + </p> + <p> + “You are a good thing. + </p> + <p> + “Be a good mayor.” + </p> + <p> + This woman was a rhetorician. She understood inductive ratiocination. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0062"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + IX + </h3> + <p> + When this good M. Madeline, who, the reader will perceive, must have been + a former convict, and a very bad man, gave himself up to justice as the + real Jean Valjean, about this same time, Fantine was turned away from the + manufactory, and met with a number of losses from Society. Society + attacked her, and this is what she lost:— + </p> + <p> + First her lover. + </p> + <p> + Then her child. + </p> + <p> + Then her place. + </p> + <p> + Then her hair. + </p> + <p> + Then her teeth. + </p> + <p> + Then her liberty. + </p> + <p> + Then her life. + </p> + <p> + What do you think of Society after that? I tell you the present social + system is a humbug. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0063"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + X + </h3> + <p> + This is necessarily the end of Fantine. + </p> + <p> + There are other things that will be stated in other volumes to follow. + Don’t be alarmed; there are plenty of miserable people left. + </p> + <p> + Au revoir—my friend. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0064"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + “LA FEMME” + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + AFTER THE FRENCH OF M. MICHELET + </div> + <p> + I WOMEN AS AN INSTITUTION + </p> + <p> + “If it were not for women, few of us would at present be in existence.” + This is the remark of a cautious and discreet writer. He was also + sagacious and intelligent. + </p> + <p> + Woman! Look upon her and admire her. Gaze upon her and love her. If she + wishes to embrace you, permit her. Remember she is weak and you are + strong. + </p> + <p> + But don’t treat her unkindly. Don’t make love to another woman before her + face, even if she be your wife. Don’t do it. Always be polite, even should + she fancy somebody better than you. + </p> + <p> + If your mother, my dear Amadis, had not fancied your father better than + somebody, you might have been that somebody’s son. Consider this. Always + be a philosopher, even about women. + </p> + <p> + Few men understand women. Frenchmen, perhaps, better than any one else. I + am a Frenchman. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0065"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + THE INFANT + </div> + <p> + She is a child—a little thing—an infant. + </p> + <p> + She has a mother and father. Let us suppose, for example, they are + married. Let us be moral if we cannot be happy and free—they are + married—perhaps—they love one another—who knows? + </p> + <p> + But she knows nothing of this; she is an infant—a small thing—a + trifle! + </p> + <p> + She is not lovely at first. It is cruel, perhaps, but she is red, and + positively ugly. She feels this keenly, and cries. She weeps. Ah, my God, + how she weeps! Her cries and lamentations now are really distressing. + </p> + <p> + Tears stream from her in floods. She feels deeply and copiously, like M. + Alphonse de Lamartine in his “Confessions.” + </p> + <p> + If you are her mother, Madame, you will fancy worms; you will examine her + linen for pins, and what not. Ah, hypocrite! you, even <i>you</i>, + misunderstand her. + </p> + <p> + Yet she has charming natural impulses. See how she tosses her dimpled + arms. She looks longingly at her mother. She has a language of her own. + She says, “goo, goo,” and “ga, ga.” She demands something—this + infant! + </p> + <p> + She is faint, poor thing. She famishes. She wishes to be restored. Restore + her, Mother! <i>It is the first duty of a mother to restore her child!</i> + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0066"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + III + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + THE DOLL + </div> + <p> + She is hardly able to walk; she already totters under the weight of a + doll. + </p> + <p> + It is a charming and elegant affair. It has pink cheeks and purple-black + hair. She prefers brunettes, for she has already, with the quick knowledge + of a French infant, perceived she is a blonde, and that her doll cannot + rival her. Mon Dieu, how touching! Happy child! She spends hours in + preparing its toilet. She begins to show her taste in the exquisite + details of its dress. She loves it madly, devotedly. She will prefer it to + bonbons. She already anticipates the wealth of love she will hereafter + pour out on her lover, her mother, her father, and finally, perhaps, her + husband. + </p> + <p> + This is the time the anxious parent will guide these first outpourings. + She will read her extracts from Michelet’s “L’Amour,” Rousseau’s + “Heloise,” and the “Revue des deux Mondes.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0067"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + IV + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + THE MUD PIE + </div> + <p> + She was in tears to-day. + </p> + <p> + She had stolen away from her bonne and was with some rustic infants. They + had noses in the air, and large, coarse hands and feet. + </p> + <p> + They had seated themselves around a pool in the road, and were fashioning + fantastic shapes in the clayey soil with their hands. Her throat swelled + and her eyes sparkled with delight as, for the first time, her soft palms + touched the plastic mud. She made a graceful and lovely pie. She stuffed + it with stones for almonds and plums. She forgot everything. It was being + baked in the solar rays, when madame came and took her away. + </p> + <p> + She weeps. It is night, and she is weeping still. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0068"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + V + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + THE FIRST LOVE + </div> + <p> + She no longer doubts her beauty. She is loved. + </p> + <p> + She saw him secretly. He is vivacious and sprightly. He is famous. He has + already had an affair with Finfin, the fille de chambre, and poor Finfin + is desolate. He is noble. She knows he is the son of Madame la Baronne + Couturiere. She adores him. + </p> + <p> + She affects not to notice him. Poor little thing! Hippolyte is distracted—annihilated—inconsolable + and charming. + </p> + <p> + She admires his boots, his cravat, his little gloves—his exquisite + pantaloons—his coat, and cane. + </p> + <p> + She offers to run away with him. He is transported, but magnanimous. He is + wearied, perhaps. She sees him the next day offering flowers to the + daughter of Madame la Comtesse Blanchisseuse. + </p> + <p> + She is again in tears. + </p> + <p> + She reads “Paul et Virginie.” She is secretly transported. When she reads + how the exemplary young woman laid down her life rather than appear en + deshabille to her lover, she weeps again. Tasteful and virtuous Bernardin + de Saint-Pierre!—the daughters of France admire you! + </p> + <p> + All this time her doll is headless in the cabinet. The mud pie is broken + on the road. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0069"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + VI + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + THE WIFE + </div> + <p> + She is tired of loving, and she marries. + </p> + <p> + Her mother thinks it, on the whole, the best thing. As the day approaches, + she is found frequently in tears. Her mother will not permit the affianced + one to see her, and he makes several attempts to commit suicide. + </p> + <p> + But something happens. Perhaps it is winter, and the water is cold. + Perhaps there are not enough people present to witness his heroism. + </p> + <p> + In this way her future husband is spared to her. The ways of Providence + are indeed mysterious. At this time her mother will talk with her. She + will offer philosophy. She will tell her she was married herself. + </p> + <p> + But what is this new and ravishing light that breaks upon her? The toilet + and wedding clothes! She is in a new sphere. + </p> + <p> + She makes out her list in her own charming writing. Here it is. Let every + mother heed it. [Footnote: The delicate reader will appreciate the + omission of certain articles for which English synonyms are forbidden.] + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + She is married. On the day after, she meets her old lover, Hippolyte. He + is again transported. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0070"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + VII + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + HER OLD AGE + </div> + <p> + A Frenchwoman never grows old. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0071"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + BY SIR ED-D L-TT-N B-LW-R + </div> + <p> + BOOK I THE PROMPTINGS OF THE IDEAL + </p> + <p> + It was noon. Sir Edward had stepped from his brougham, and was proceeding + on foot down the Strand. He was dressed with his usual faultless taste, + but in alighting from his vehicle his foot had slipped, and a small round + disk of conglomerated soil, which instantly appeared on his high arched + instep, marred the harmonious glitter of his boots. Sir Edward was + fastidious. Casting his eyes around, at a little distance he perceived the + stand of a youthful bootblack. Thither he sauntered, and carelessly + placing his foot on the low stool, he waited the application of the + polisher’s art. “’Tis true,” said Sir Edward to himself, yet half aloud, + “the contact of the Foul and the Disgusting mars the general effect of the + Shiny and the Beautiful—and, yet, why am I here? I repeat it, calmly + and deliberately—why am I here? Ha! Boy!” + </p> + <p> + The Boy looked up—his dark Italian eyes glanced intelligently at the + Philosopher, and as with one hand he tossed back his glossy curls from his + marble brow, and with the other he spread the equally glossy Day & + Martin over the Baronet’s boot, he answered in deep, rich tones: “The + Ideal is subjective to the Real. The exercise of apperception gives a + distinctiveness to idiocracy, which is, however, subject to the limits of + ME. You are an admirer of the Beautiful, sir. You wish your boots blacked. + The Beautiful is attainable by means of the Coin.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Sir Edward thoughtfully, gazing upon the almost supernal beauty + of the Child before him; “you speak well. You have read Kant.” + </p> + <p> + The Boy blushed deeply. He drew a copy of Kant from his blouse, but in his + confusion several other volumes dropped from his bosom on the ground. The + Baronet picked them up. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the Philosopher, “what’s this? Cicero’s ‘De Sonertute,’—at + your age, too! Martial’s ‘Epigrams,’ Caesar’s ‘Commentaries.’ What! a + classical scholar?” + </p> + <p> + “E pluribus Unum. Nux vomica. Nil desperandum. Nihil fit!” said the Boy + enthusiastically. The Philosopher gazed at the Child. A strange presence + seemed to transfuse and possess him. Over the brow of the Boy glittered + the pale nimbus of the Student. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, and Schiller’s ‘Robbers,’ too?” queried the Philosopher. + </p> + <p> + “Das ist ausgespielt,” said the Boy modestly. + </p> + <p> + “Then you have read my translation of Schiller’s ‘Ballads’?” continued the + Baronet, with some show of interest. + </p> + <p> + “I have, and infinitely prefer them to the original,” said the Boy, with + intellectual warmth. “You have shown how in Actual life we strive for a + Goal we cannot reach; how in the Ideal the Goal is attainable, and there + effort is victory. You have given us the Antithesis which is a key to the + Remainder, and constantly balances before us the conditions of the Actual + and the privileges of the Ideal.” + </p> + <p> + “My very words,” said the Baronet; “wonderful, wonderful!” and he gazed + fondly at the Italian boy, who again resumed his menial employment. Alas! + the wings of the Ideal were folded. The Student had been absorbed in the + Boy. + </p> + <p> + But Sir Edward’s boots were blacked, and he turned to depart. Placing his + hand upon the clustering tendrils that surrounded the classic nob of the + infant Italian, he said softly, like a strain of distant music,— + </p> + <p> + “Boy, you have done well. Love the Good. Protect the Innocent. Provide for + the Indigent. Respect the Philosopher.... Stay! Can you tell me what <i>is</i> + The True, The Beautiful, The Innocent, The Virtuous?” + </p> + <p> + “They are things that commence with a capital letter,” said the Boy + promptly. + </p> + <p> + “Enough! Respect everything that commences with a capital letter! Respect + ME!” and dropping a halfpenny in the hand of the boy, he departed. + </p> + <p> + The Boy gazed fixedly at the coin. A frightful and instantaneous change + overspread his features. His noble brow was corrugated with baser lines of + calculation. His black eye, serpent-like, glittered with suppressed + passion. Dropping upon his hands and feet, he crawled to the curbstone, + and hissed after the retreating form of the Baronet the single word— + </p> + <p> + “Bilk!” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0072"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + BOOK II + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + IN THE WORLD + </div> + <p> + “Eleven years ago,” said Sir Edward to himself, as his brougham slowly + rolled him toward the Committee Room, “just eleven years ago my natural + son disappeared mysteriously. I have no doubt in the world but that this + little bootblack is he. His mother died in Italy. He resembles his mother + very much. Perhaps I ought to provide for him. Shall I disclose myself? + No! no! Better he should taste the sweets of Labor. Penury ennobles the + mind and kindles the Love of the Beautiful. I will act to him, not like a + Father, not like a Guardian, not like a Friend—but like a + Philosopher!” With these words, Sir Edward entered the Committee Room. His + Secretary approached him. “Sir Edward, there are fears of a division in + the House, and the Prime Minister has sent for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I will be there,” said Sir Edward, as he placed his hand on his chest and + uttered a hollow cough! + </p> + <p> + No one who heard the Baronet that night, in his sarcastic and withering + speech on the Drainage and Sewerage Bill, would have recognized the Lover + of the Ideal and the Philosopher of the Beautiful. No one who listened to + his eloquence would have dreamed of the Spartan resolution this iron man + had taken in regard to the Lost Boy—his own beloved Lionel. None! + </p> + <p> + “A fine speech from Sir Edward to-night,” said Lord Billingsgate, as, arm + and arm with the Premier, he entered his carriage. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! but how dreadfully he coughs!” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. Dr. Bolus says his lungs are entirely gone; he breathes entirely + by an effort of will, and altogether independent of pulmonary assistance.” + </p> + <p> + “How strange!” And the carriage rolled away. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0073"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + BOOK III + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD + </div> + <p> + “Adon Ai, appear! appear!” + </p> + <p> + And as the Seer spoke, the awful Presence glided out of Nothingness, and + sat, sphinx-like, at the feet of the Alchemist. + </p> + <p> + “I am come!” said the Thing. + </p> + <p> + “You should say, ‘I have come,’—it’s better grammar,” said the + Boy-Neophyte, thoughtfully accenting the substituted expression. + </p> + <p> + “Hush, rash Boy,” said the Seer sternly. “Would you oppose your feeble + knowledge to the infinite intelligence of the Unmistakable? A word, and + you are lost forever.” + </p> + <p> + The Boy breathed a silent prayer, and handing a sealed package to the + Seer, begged him to hand it to his father in case of his premature + decease. + </p> + <p> + “You have sent for me,” hissed the Presence. “Behold me, Apokatharticon,—the + Unpronounceable. In me all things exist that are not already coexistent. I + am the Unattainable, the Intangible, the Cause, and the Effect. In me + observe the Brahma of Mr. Emerson; not only Brahma himself, but also the + sacred musical composition rehearsed by the faithful Hindoo. I am the real + Gyges. None others are genuine.” + </p> + <p> + And the veiled Son of the Starbeam laid himself loosely about the room, + and permeated Space generally. + </p> + <p> + “Unfathomable Mystery,” said the Rosicrucian in a low, sweet voice. “Brave + Child with the Vitreous Optic! Thou who pervadest all things and rubbest + against us without abrasion of the cuticle. I command thee, speak!” + </p> + <p> + And the misty, intangible, indefinite Presence spoke. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0074"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + BOOK IV + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + MYSELF + </div> + <p> + After the events related in the last chapter, the reader will perceive + that nothing was easier than to reconcile Sir Edward to his son Lionel, + nor to resuscitate the beautiful Italian girl, who, it appears, was not + dead, and to cause Sir Edward to marry his first and boyish love, whom he + had deserted. They were married in St. George’s, Hanover Square. As the + bridal party stood before the altar, Sir Edward, with a sweet, sad smile, + said in quite his old manner,— + </p> + <p> + “The Sublime and Beautiful are the Real; the only Ideal is the Ridiculous + and Homely. Let us always remember this. Let us through life endeavor to + personify the virtues, and always begin ’em with a capital letter. Let us, + whenever we can find an opportunity, deliver our sentiments in the form of + roundhand copies. Respect the Aged. Eschew Vulgarity. Admire Ourselves. + Regard the Novelist.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0075"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + N N. + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + BEING A NOVEL IN THE FRENCH PARAGRAPHIC STYLE + </div> + <p> + —Mademoiselle, I swear to you that I love you. + </p> + <p> + —You who read these pages. You who turn your burning eyes upon these + words—words that I trace—ah, heaven! the thought maddens me. + </p> + <p> + —I will be calm. I will imitate the reserve of the festive + Englishman, who wears a spotted handkerchief which he calls a Belchio, who + eats biftek, and caresses a bulldog. I will subdue myself like him. + </p> + <p> + —Ha! Poto-beer! All right—Goddam! + </p> + <p> + —Or, I will conduct myself as the free-born American—the gay + Brother Jonathan. I will whittle me a stick. I will whistle to myself + “Yankee Doodle,” and forget my passion in excessive expectoration. + </p> + <p> + —Ho! ho!—wake snakes and walk chalks. + </p> + <p> + The world is divided into two great divisions,—Paris and the + provinces. There is but one Paris. There are several provinces, among + which may be numbered England, America, Russia, and Italy. + </p> + <p> + N N. was a Parisian. + </p> + <p> + But N N. did not live in Paris. Drop a Parisian in the provinces, and you + drop a part of Paris with him. Drop him in Senegambia, and in three days + he will give you an omelette soufflee, or a pate de foie gras, served by + the neatest of Senegambian filles, whom he will call mademoiselle. In + three weeks he will give you an opera. + </p> + <p> + N N. was not dropped in Senegambia, but in San Francisco,—quite as + awkward. + </p> + <p> + They find gold in San Francisco, but they don’t understand gilding. + </p> + <p> + N N. existed three years in this place. He became bald on the top of his + head, as all Parisians do. Look down from your box at the Opera Comique, + mademoiselle, and count the bald crowns of the fast young men in the pit. + Ah—you tremble! They show where the arrows of love have struck and + glanced off. + </p> + <p> + N N. was almost near-sighted, as all Parisians finally become. This is a + gallant provision of nature to spare them the mortification of observing + that their lady friends grow old. After a certain age every woman is + handsome to a Parisian. + </p> + <p> + One day, N N. was walking down Washington Street. Suddenly he stopped. + </p> + <p> + He was standing before the door of a mantua-maker. Beside the counter, at + the farther extremity of the shop, stood a young and elegantly formed + woman. Her face was turned from N N. He entered. With a plausible excuse + and seeming indifference, he gracefully opened conversation with the + mantua-maker as only a Parisian can. But he had to deal with a Parisian. + His attempts to view the features of the fair stranger by the counter were + deftly combated by the shopwoman. He was obliged to retire. + </p> + <p> + N N. went home and lost his appetite. He was haunted by the elegant basque + and graceful shoulders of the fair unknown, during the whole night. + </p> + <p> + The next day he sauntered by the mantua-maker. Ah! Heavens! A thrill ran + through his frame, and his fingers tingled with a delicious electricity. + The fair inconnue was there! He raised his hat gracefully. He was not + certain, but he thought that a slight motion of her faultless bonnet + betrayed recognition. He would have wildly darted into the shop, but just + then the figure of the mantua-maker appeared in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + —Did monsieur wish anything? + </p> + <p> + —Misfortune! Desperation. N N. purchased a bottle of Prussic acid, a + sack of charcoal, and a quire of pink note-paper, and returned home. He + wrote a letter of farewell to the closely fitting basque, and opened the + bottle of Prussic acid. + </p> + <p> + Some one knocked at his door. It was a Chinaman, with his weekly linen. + </p> + <p> + These Chinese are docile, but not intelligent. They are ingenious, but not + creative. They are cunning in expedients, but deficient in tact. In love + they are simply barbarous. They purchase their wives openly, and not + constructively by attorney. By offering small sums for their sweethearts, + they degrade the value of the sex. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, N N. felt he was saved. He explained all to the faithful + Mongolian, and exhibited the letter he had written. He implored him to + deliver it. + </p> + <p> + The Mongolian assented. The race are not cleanly or sweet-savored, but N + N. fell upon his neck. He embraced him with one hand, and closed his + nostrils with the other. Through him, he felt he clasped the close-fitting + basque. + </p> + <p> + The next day was one of agony and suspense. Evening came, but no mercy. N + N. lit the charcoal. But, to compose his nerves, he closed his door and + first walked mildly up and down Montgomery Street. When he returned, he + found the faithful Mongolian on the steps. + </p> + <p> + —All lity! + </p> + <p> + These Chinese are not accurate in their pronunciation. They avoid the <i>r</i>, + like the English nobleman. + </p> + <p> + N N. gasped for breath. He leaned heavily against the Chinaman. + </p> + <p> + —Then you have seen her, Ching Long? + </p> + <p> + —Yes. All lity. She cum. Top side of house. + </p> + <p> + The docile barbarian pointed up the stairs, and chuckled. + </p> + <p> + —She here—impossible! Ah, Heaven! do I dream? + </p> + <p> + —Yes. All lity,—top side of house. Good-by, John. + </p> + <p> + This is the familiar parting epithet of the Mongolian. It is equivalent to + our au revoir. + </p> + <p> + N N. gazed with a stupefied air on the departing servant. + </p> + <p> + He placed his hand on his throbbing heart. She here,—alone beneath + this roof? Oh, heavens,—what happiness! + </p> + <p> + But how? Torn from her home. Ruthlessly dragged, perhaps, from her evening + devotions, by the hands of a relentless barbarian. Could she forgive him? + </p> + <p> + He dashed frantically up the stairs. He opened the door. + </p> + <p> + She was standing beside his couch with averted face. + </p> + <p> + A strange giddiness overtook him. He sank upon his knees at the threshold. + </p> + <p> + —Pardon, pardon. My angel, can you forgive me? + </p> + <p> + A terrible nausea now seemed added to the fearful giddiness. His utterance + grew thick and sluggish. + </p> + <p> + —Speak, speak, enchantress. Forgiveness is all I ask. My Love, my + Life! + </p> + <p> + She did not answer. He staggered to his feet. As he rose, his eyes fell on + the pan of burning charcoal. A terrible suspicion flashed across his mind. + This giddiness—this nausea. The ignorance of the barbarian. This + silence. Oh, merciful heavens! she was dying! + </p> + <p> + He crawled toward her. He touched her. She fell forward with a lifeless + sound upon the floor. He uttered a piercing shriek, and threw himself + beside her. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + A file of gendarmes, accompanied by the Chef Burke, found him the next + morning lying lifeless upon the floor. They laughed brutally—these + cruel minions of the law—and disengaged his arm from the waist of + the wooden dummy which they had come to reclaim, from the mantua-maker. + </p> + <p> + Emptying a few bucketfuls of water over his form, they finally succeeded + in robbing him, not only of his mistress, but of that Death he had coveted + without her. + </p> + <p> + Ah! we live in a strange world, messieurs. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0076"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + NO TITLE + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + BY W-LK-E C-LL-NS + </div> + <p> + <a id="2H_PROL2"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + PROLOGUE + </h3> + <p> + The following advertisement appeared in the “Times” of the 17th of June, + 1845:— + </p> + <p> + WANTED.—A few young men for a light, genteel employment. Address J. + W., P. O. + </p> + <p> + In the same paper, of same date, in another column:— + </p> + <p> + TO LET.—That commodious and elegant family mansion, No. 27 Limehouse + Road, Pultneyville, will be rented low to a respectable tenant if applied + for immediately, the family being about to remove to the Continent. + </p> + <p> + Under the local intelligence, in another column:— + </p> + <p> + MISSING.—An unknown elderly gentleman a week ago left his lodgings + in the Kent Road, since which nothing has been heard of him. He left no + trace of his identity except a portmanteau containing a couple of shirts + marked “209, Ward.” + </p> + <p> + To find the connection between the mysterious disappearance of the elderly + gentleman and the anonymous communication, the relevancy of both these + incidents to the letting of a commodious family mansion, and the dead + secret involved in the three occurrences, is the task of the writer of + this history. + </p> + <p> + A slim young man with spectacles, a large hat, drab gaiters, and a + notebook, sat late that night with a copy of the “Times” before him, and a + pencil which he rattled nervously between his teeth in the coffee-room of + the Blue Dragon. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER I + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + MARY JONES’S NARRATIVE + </div> + <p> + I am upper housemaid to the family that live at No. 27 Limehouse Road, + Pultneyville. I have been requested by Mr. Wilkey Collings, which I takes + the liberty of here stating is a gentleman born and bred, and has some + consideration for the feelings of servants, and is not above rewarding + them for their trouble, which is more than you can say for some who ask + questions and gets short answers enough, gracious knows, to tell what I + know about them. I have been requested to tell my story in my own + langwidge, though, being no schollard, mind cannot conceive. I think my + master is a brute. Do not know that he has ever attempted to poison my + missus,—which is too good for him, and how she ever came to marry + him, heart only can tell,—but believe him to be capable of any such + hatrosity. Have heard him swear dreadful because of not having his + shaving-water at nine o’clock precisely. Do not know whether he ever + forged a will or tried to get my missus’s property, although, not having + confidence in the man, should not be surprised if he had done so. Believe + that there was always something mysterious in his conduct. Remember + distinctly how the family left home to go abroad. Was putting up my back + hair, last Saturday morning, when I heard a ring. Says cook, “That’s + missus’s bell, and mind you hurry or the master ’ill know why.” Says I, + “Humbly thanking you, mem, but taking advice of them as is competent to + give it, I’ll take my time.” Found missus dressing herself and master + growling as usual. Says missus, quite cairn and easy-like, “Mary, we begin + to pack to-day.” “What for, mem?” says I, taken aback. “What’s that hussy + asking?” says master from the bedclothes quite savage-like. “For the + Continent—Italy,” says missus. “Can you go, Mary?” Her voice was + quite gentle and saintlike, but I knew the struggle it cost, and says I, + “With you, mem, to India’s torrid clime, if required, but with African + Gorillas,” says I, looking toward the bed, “never.” “Leave the room,” says + master, starting up and catching of his bootjack. “Why, Charles!” says + missus, “how you talk!” affecting surprise. “Do go, Mary,” says she, + slipping a half-crown into my hand. I left the room, scorning to take + notice of the odious wretch’s conduct. + </p> + <p> + Cannot say whether my master and missus were ever legally married. What + with the dreadful state of morals nowadays and them stories in the + circulating libraries, innocent girls don’t know into what society they + might be obliged to take situations. Never saw missus’s marriage + certificate, though I have quite accidental-like looked in her desk when + open, and would have seen it. Do not know of any lovers missus might have + had. Believe she had a liking for John Thomas, footman, for she was always + spiteful-like—poor lady—when we were together—though + there was nothing between us, as cook well knows, and dare not deny, and + missus needn’t have been jealous. Have never seen arsenic or Prussian acid + in any of the private drawers—but have seen paregoric and camphor. + One of my master’s friends was a Count Moscow, a Russian papist—which + I detested. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER II + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + THE SLIM YOUNG MAN’S STORY + </div> + <p> + I am by profession a reporter, and writer for the press. I live at + Pultneyville. I have always had a passion for the marvelous, and have been + distinguished for my facility in tracing out mysteries, and solving + enigmatical occurrences. On the night of the 17th June, 1845, I left my + office and walked homeward. The night was bright and starlight. I was + revolving in my mind the words of a singular item I had just read in the + “Times.” I had reached the darkest portion of the road, and found myself + mechanically repeating: “An elderly gentleman a week ago left his lodgings + on the Kent Road,” when suddenly I heard a step behind me. + </p> + <p> + I turned quickly, with an expression of horror in my face, and by the + light of the newly risen moon beheld an elderly gentleman, with green + cotton umbrella, approaching me. His hair, which was snow white, was + parted over a broad, open forehead. The expression of his face, which was + slightly flushed, was that of amiability verging almost upon imbecility. + There was a strange, inquiring look about the widely opened mild blue eye,—a + look that might have been intensified to insanity or modified to idiocy. + As he passed me, he paused and partly turned his face, with a gesture of + inquiry. I see him still, his white locks blowing in the evening breeze, + his hat a little on the back of his head, and his figure painted in relief + against the dark blue sky. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he turned his mild eye full upon me. A weak smile played about + his thin lips. In a voice which had something of the tremulousness of age + and the self-satisfied chuckle of imbecility in it, he asked, pointing to + the rising moon, “Why?—Hush!” + </p> + <p> + He had dodged behind me, and appeared to be looking anxiously down the + road. I could feel his aged frame shaking with terror as he laid his thin + hands upon my shoulders and faced me in the direction of the supposed + danger. + </p> + <p> + “Hush! did you not hear them coming?” + </p> + <p> + I listened; there was no sound but the soughing of the roadside trees in + the evening wind. I endeavored to reassure him, with such success that in + a few moments the old weak smile appeared on his benevolent face. + </p> + <p> + “Why?”—But the look of interrogation was succeeded by a hopeless + blankness. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” I repeated with assuring accents. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” he said, a gleam of intelligence flickering over his face, “is + yonder moon, as she sails in the blue empyrean, casting a flood of light + o’er hill and dale, like—Why,” he repeated, with a feeble smile, “is + yonder moon, as she sails in the blue empyrean”—He hesitated,—stammered,—and + gazed at me hopelessly, with the tears dripping from his moist and widely + opened eyes. + </p> + <p> + I took his hand kindly in my own. “Casting a shadow o’er hill and dale,” I + repeated quietly, leading him up to the subject, “like—Come, now.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said, pressing my hand tremulously, “you know it?” + </p> + <p> + “I do. Why is it like—the—eh—the commodious mansion on + the Limehouse Road?” + </p> + <p> + A blank stare only followed. He shook his head sadly. + </p> + <p> + “Like the young men wanted for a light, genteel employment?” + </p> + <p> + He wagged his feeble old head cunningly. + </p> + <p> + “Or, Mr. Ward,” I said, with bold confidence, “like the mysterious + disappearance from the Kent Road?” The moment was full of suspense. He did + not seem to hear me. Suddenly he turned. + </p> + <p> + “Ha!” + </p> + <p> + I darted forward. But he had vanished in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER III + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + NO. 27 LIMEHOUSE ROAD + </div> + <p> + It was a hot midsummer evening. Limehouse Road was deserted save by dust + and a few rattling butchers’ carts, and the bell of the muffin and crumpet + man. A commodious mansion, which stood on the right of the road as you + enter Pultneyville, surrounded by stately poplars and a high fence + surmounted by a cheval de frise of broken glass, looked to the passing and + footsore pedestrian like the genius of seclusion and solitude. A bill + announcing in the usual terms that the house was to let hung from the bell + at the servants’ entrance. + </p> + <p> + As the shades of evening closed, and the long shadows of the poplars + stretched across the road, a man carrying a small kettle stopped and + gazed, first at the bill and then at the house. When he had reached the + corner of the fence, he again stopped and looked cautiously up and down + the road. Apparently satisfied with the result of his scrutiny, he + deliberately sat himself down in the dark shadow of the fence, and at once + busied himself in some employment, so well concealed as to be invisible to + the gaze of passers-by. At the end of an hour he retired cautiously. + </p> + <p> + But not altogether unseen. A slim young man, with spectacles and notebook, + stepped from behind a tree as the retreating figure of the intruder was + lost in the twilight, and transferred from the fence to his notebook the + freshly stenciled inscription, “S—T—1860—X.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER IV + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + COUNT MOSCOW’S NARRATIVE + </div> + <p> + I am a foreigner. Observe! To be a foreigner in England is to be + mysterious, suspicious, intriguing. M. Collins has requested the history + of my complicity with certain occurrences. It is nothing, bah! absolutely + nothing. I write with ease and fluency. Why should I not write? Tra-la-la! + I am what you English call corpulent. Ha, ha! I am a pupil of + Macchiavelli. I find it much better to disbelieve everything, and to + approach my subject and wishes circuitously than in a direct manner. You + have observed that playful animal, the cat. Call it, and it does not come + to you directly, but rubs itself against all the furniture in the room, + and reaches you finally—and scratches. Ah, ha, scratches! I am of + the feline species. People call me a villain—bah! + </p> + <p> + I know the family living No. 27 Limehouse Road. I respect the gentleman,—a + fine, burly specimen of your Englishman,—and madame, charming, + ravishing, delightful. When it became known to me that they designed to + let their delightful residence, and visit foreign shores, I at once called + upon them. I kissed the hand of madame. I embraced the great Englishman. + Madame blushed slightly. The great Englishman shook my hand like a + mastiff. + </p> + <p> + I began in that dexterous, insinuating manner of which I am truly proud. I + thought madame was ill. Ah, no. A change, then, was all that was required. + I sat down at the piano and sang. In a few minutes madame retired. I was + alone with my friend. + </p> + <p> + Seizing his hand, I began with every demonstration of courteous sympathy. + I do not repeat my words, for my intention was conveyed more in accent, + emphasis, and manner, than speech. I hinted to him that he had another + wife living. I suggested that this was balanced—ha!—by his + wife’s lover. That, possibly, he wished to fly; hence the letting of his + delightful mansion. That he regularly and systematically beat his wife in + the English manner, and that she repeatedly deceived him. I talked of + hope, of consolation, of remedy. I carelessly produced a bottle of + strychnine and a small vial of stramonium from my pocket, and enlarged on + the efficiency of drugs. His face, which had gradually become convulsed, + suddenly became fixed with a frightful expression. He started to his feet, + and roared, “You d—d Frenchman!” + </p> + <p> + I instantly changed my tactics, and endeavored to embrace him. He kicked + me twice, violently. I begged permission to kiss madame’s hand. He replied + by throwing me downstairs. + </p> + <p> + I am in bed with my head bound up, and beefsteaks upon my eyes, but still + confident and buoyant. I have not lost faith in Macchiavelli. Tra-la-la! + as they sing in the opera. I kiss everybody’s hands. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER V + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + DR. DIGGS’S STATEMENT + </div> + <p> + My name is David Diggs. I am a surgeon, living at No. 9 Tottenham Court. + On the 15th of June, 1854, I was called to see an elderly gentleman + lodging on the Kent Road. Found him highly excited, with strong febrile + symptoms, pulse 120, increasing. Repeated incoherently what I judged to be + the popular form of a conundrum. On closer examination found acute + hydrocephalus, and both lobes of the brain rapidly filling with water. In + consultation with an eminent phrenologist, it was further discovered that + all the organs were more or less obliterated, except that of Comparison. + Hence the patient was enabled to only distinguish the most common points + of resemblance between objects, without drawing upon other faculties, such + as Ideality or Language, for assistance. Later in the day found him + sinking,—being evidently unable to carry the most ordinary conundrum + to a successful issue. Exhibited Tinct. Val., Ext. Opii, and Camphor, and + prescribed quiet and emollients. On the 17th the patient was missing. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER LAST + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + STATEMENT OF THE PUBLISHER + </div> + <p> + On the 18th of June, Mr. Wilkie Collins left a roll of manuscript with us + for publication, without title or direction, since which time he has not + been heard from. In spite of the care of the proof-readers, and valuable + literary assistance, it is feared that the continuity of the story has + been destroyed by some accidental misplacing of chapters during its + progress. How and what chapters are so misplaced, the publisher leaves to + an indulgent public to discover. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0084"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + HANDSOME IS AS HANDSOME DOES + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + BY CH-S R-DE + </div> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER I + </h3> + <p> + The Dodds were dead. For twenty years they had slept under the green + graves of Kittery churchyard. The townfolk still spoke of them kindly. The + keeper of the alehouse, where David had smoked his pipe, regretted him + regularly, and Mistress Kitty, Mrs. Dodd’s maid, whose trim figure always + looked well in her mistress’s gowns, was inconsolable. The Hardins were in + America. Raby was aristocratically gouty; Mrs. Raby, religious. Briefly, + then, we have disposed of— + </p> + <p> + 1. Mr. and Mrs. Dodd (dead). + </p> + <p> + 2. Mr. and Mrs. Hardin (translated). + </p> + <p> + 3. Raby, baron et femme. (Yet I don’t know about the former; he came of a + long-lived family, and the gout is an uncertain-disease.) + </p> + <p> + We have active at the present writing (place aux dames)— + </p> + <p> + 1. Lady Caroline Coventry, niece of Sir Frederick. + </p> + <p> + 2. Faraday Huxley Little, son of Henry and Graco Little deceased. + </p> + <p> + <i>Sequitur</i> to the above, A HERO AND HEROINE. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER II + </h3> + <p> + On the death of his parents, Faraday Little was taken to Raby Hall. In + accepting his guardianship, Mr. Raby struggled stoutly against two + prejudices: Faraday was plain-looking and skeptical. + </p> + <p> + “Handsome is as handsome does, sweetheart,” pleaded Jael, interceding for + the orphan with arms that were still beautiful. “Dear knows, it is not his + fault if he does not look like—his father,” she added with a great + gulp. Jael was a woman, and vindicated her womanhood by never entirely + forgiving a former rival. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not that alone, madam,” screamed Raby, “but, d—m it, the + little rascal’s a scientist,—an atheist, a radical, a scoffer! + Disbelieves in the Bible, ma’am; is full of this Darwinian stuff about + natural selection and descent. Descent, forsooth! In my day, madam, + gentlemen were content to trace their ancestors back to gentlemen, and not + to—monkeys!” + </p> + <p> + “Dear heart, the boy is clever,” urged Jael. + </p> + <p> + “Clever!” roared Raby; “what does a gentleman want with cleverness?” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER III + </h3> + <p> + Young Little <i>was</i> clever. At seven he had constructed a telescope; + at nine, a flying-machine. At ten he saved a valuable life. + </p> + <p> + Norwood Park was the adjacent estate,—a lordly domain dotted with + red deer and black trunks, but scrupulously kept with graveled roads as + hard and blue as steel. There Little was strolling one summer morning, + meditating on a new top with concealed springs. At a little distance + before him he saw the flutter of lace and ribbons. A young lady, a very + young lady,—say of seven summers,—tricked out in the crying + abominations of the present fashion, stood beside a low bush. Her + nursery-maid was not present, possibly owing to the fact that John the + footman was also absent. + </p> +<div class='pre'> + Suddenly Little came towards her. “Excuse me, but do you know what + those berries are?” He was pointing to the low bush filled with dark + clusters of shining—suspiciously shining—fruit. +</div> + <p> + “Certainly; they are blueberries.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me; you are mistaken. They belong to quite another family.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Impudence drew herself up to her full height (exactly three feet nine + and a half inches), and, curling an eighth of an inch of scarlet lip, said + scornfully, “<i>Your</i> family, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + Faraday Little smiled in the superiority of boyhood over girlhood. + </p> + <p> + “I allude to the classification. That plant is the belladonna, or deadly + nightshade. Its alkaloid is a narcotic poison.” + </p> + <p> + Sauciness turned pale. “I—have—just—eaten—some!” + And began to whimper. “Oh dear, what shall I do?” Then did it, i. e., + wrung her small fingers, and cried. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me one moment.” Little passed his arm around her neck, and with + his thumb opened widely the patrician-veined lids of her sweet blue eyes. + “Thank Heaven, there is yet no dilation of the pupil; it is not too late!” + He cast a rapid glance around. The nozzle and about three feet of garden + hose lay near him. + </p> + <p> + “Open your mouth, quick!” + </p> + <p> + It was a pretty, kissable mouth. But young Little meant business. He put + the nozzle down her pink throat as far as it would go. + </p> + <p> + “Now, don’t move.” + </p> + <p> + He wrapped his handkerchief around a hoop-stick. Then he inserted both in + the other end of the stiff hose. It fitted snugly. He shoved it in and + then drew it back. + </p> + <p> + Nature abhors a vacuum. The young patrician was as amenable to this law as + the child of the lowest peasant. She succumbed. It was all over in a + minute. Then she burst into a small fury. + </p> + <p> + “You nasty, bad—<i>ugly</i> boy.” + </p> + <p> + Young Little winced, but smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Stimulants,” he whispered to the frightened nurserymaid, who approached; + “good-evening.” He was gone. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER IV + </h3> + <p> + The breach between young Little and Mr. Raby was slowly widening. Little + found objectionable features in the Hall. “This black oak ceiling and + wainscoting is not as healthful as plaster; besides, it absorbs the light. + The bedroom ceiling is too low; the Elizabethan architects knew nothing of + ventilation. The color of that oak paneling which you admire is due to an + excess of carbon and the exuvia from the pores of your skin”— + </p> + <p> + “Leave the house,” bellowed Raby, “before the roof falls on your + sacrilegious head!” + </p> + <p> + As Little left the house, Lady Caroline and a handsome boy of about + Little’s age entered. Lady Caroline recoiled, and then—blushed. + Little glared; he instinctively felt the presence of a rival. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER V + </h3> + <p> + Little worked hard. He studied night and day. In five years he became a + lecturer, then a professor. + </p> + <p> + He soared as high as the clouds, he dipped as low as the cellars of the + London poor. He analyzed the London fog, and found it two parts smoke, one + disease, one unmentionable abominations. He published a pamphlet, which + was violently attacked. Then he knew he had done something. + </p> + <p> + But he had not forgotten Caroline. He was walking one day in the + Zoological Gardens, and he came upon a pretty picture,—flesh and + blood, too. + </p> + <p> + Lady Caroline feeding buns to the bears! An exquisite thrill passed + through his veins. She turned her sweet face and their eyes met. They + recollected their first meeting seven years before, but it was his turn to + be shy and timid. Wonderful power of age and sex! She met him with perfect + self-possession. + </p> + <p> + “Well meant, but indigestible, I fear” (he alluded to the buns). + </p> + <p> + “A clever person like yourself can easily correct that” (she, the + slyboots, was thinking of something else). + </p> + <p> + In a few moments they were chatting gayly. Little eagerly descanted upon + the different animals; she listened with delicious interest. An hour + glided delightfully away. + </p> + <p> + After this sunshine, clouds. + </p> + <p> + To them suddenly entered Mr. Raby and a handsome young man. The gentlemen + bowed stiffly and looked vicious—as they felt. The lady of this + quartette smiled amiably—as she did not feel. + </p> + <p> + “Looking at your ancestors, I suppose,” said Mr. Raby, pointing to the + monkeys; “we will not disturb you. Come.” And he led Caroline away. + </p> + <p> + Little was heart-sick. He dared not follow them. But an hour later he saw + something which filled his heart with bliss unspeakable. + </p> + <p> + Lady Caroline, with a divine smile on her face, feeding the monkeys! + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER VI + </h3> + <p> + Encouraged by love, Little worked hard upon his new flying-machine. His + labors were lightened by talking of the beloved one with her French maid + Therese, whom he had discreetly bribed. Mademoiselle Therese was venal, + like all her class, but in this instance I fear she was not bribed by + British gold. Strange as it may seem to the British mind, it was British + genius, British eloquence, British thought, that brought her to the feet + of this young savan. + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” said Lady Caroline, one day, interrupting her maid in a + glowing eulogium upon the skill of “M. Leetell,”—“I believe you are + in love with this professor.” A quick flush crossed the olive cheek of + Therese, which Lady Caroline afterward remembered. + </p> + <p> + The eventful day of trial came. The public were gathered, impatient and + scornful as the pig-headed public are apt to be. In the open area a long + cylindrical balloon, in shape like a Bologna sausage, swayed above the + machine, from which, like some enormous bird caught in a net, it tried to + free itself. A heavy rope held it fast to the ground. + </p> + <p> + Little was waiting for the ballast, when his eye caught Lady Caroline’s + among the spectators. The glance was appealing. In a moment he was at her + side. + </p> + <p> + “I should like so much to get into the machine,” said the arch-hypocrite + demurely. + </p> + <p> + “Are you engaged to marry young Raby?” said Little bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “As you please,” she said with a curtsey; “do I take this as a refusal?” + </p> + <p> + Little was a gentleman. He lifted her and her lap-dog into the car. + </p> + <p> + “How nice! it won’t go off?” + </p> + <p> + “No, the rope is strong, and the ballast is not yet in.” + </p> + <p> + A report like a pistol, a cry from the spectators, a thousand hands + stretched to grasp the parted rope, and the balloon darted upward. + </p> + <p> + Only one hand of that thousand caught the rope,—Little’s! But in the + same instant the horror-stricken spectators saw him whirled from his feet + and borne upward, still clinging to the rope, into space. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER VII + </h3> + <p> + [Footnote: The right of dramatization of this and succeeding chapters is + reserved by the writer.] + </p> + <p> + Lady Caroline fainted. The cold, watery nose of her dog on her cheek + brought her to herself. She dared not look over the edge of the car; she + dared not look up to the bellowing monster above her, bearing her to + death. She threw herself on the bottom of the car, and embraced the only + living thing spared her,—the poodle. Then she cried. Then a clear + voice came apparently out of the circumambient air,— + </p> + <p> + “May I trouble you to look at the barometer?” + </p> + <p> + She put her head over the car. Little was hanging at the end of a long + rope. She put her head back again. + </p> + <p> + In another moment he saw her perplexed, blushing face over the edge,—blissful + sight. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, please don’t think of coming up! Stay there, do!” + </p> + <p> + Little stayed. Of course she could make nothing out of the barometer, and + said so. Little smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Will you kindly send it down to me?” + </p> + <p> + But she had no string or cord. Finally she said, “Wait a moment.” Little + waited. This time her face did not appear. The barometer came slowly down + at the end of—a stay-lace. + </p> + <p> + The barometer showed a frightful elevation. Little looked up at the valve + and said nothing. Presently he heard a sigh. Then a sob. Then, rather + sharply,— + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you do something?” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER VIII + </h3> + <p> + Little came up the rope hand over hand. Lady Caroline crouched in the + farther side of the car. Fido, the poodle, whined. + </p> + <p> + “Poor thing,” said Lady Caroline, “it’s hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you wish to save the dog?” said Little. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me your parasol.” + </p> + <p> + She handed Little a good-sized affair of lace and silk and whalebone. + (None of your “sunshades.”) Little examined its ribs carefully. + </p> + <p> + “Give me the dog.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Caroline hurriedly slipped a note under the dog’s collar, and passed + over her pet. + </p> + <p> + Little tied the dog to the handle of the parasol and launched them both + into space. The next moment they were slowly, but tranquilly, sailing to + the earth. + </p> + <p> + “A parasol and a parachute are distinct, but not different. Be not + alarmed, he will get his dinner at some farmhouse.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are we now?” + </p> + <p> + “That opaque spot you see is London fog. Those twin clouds are North and + South America. Jerusalem and Madagascar are those specks to the right.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Caroline moved nearer; she was becoming interested. Then she recalled + herself, and said freezingly, “How are we going to descend?” + </p> + <p> + “By opening the valve.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you open it then?” + </p> + <p> + “BECAUSE THE VALVE-STRING IS BROKEN!” <a id="2HCH0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER IX + </h3> + <p> + Lady Caroline fainted. When she revived it was dark. They were apparently + cleaving their way through a solid block of black marble. She moaned and + shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “I wish we had a light.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no lucifers,” said Little. “I observe, however, that you wear a + necklace of amber. Amber under certain conditions becomes highly + electrical. Permit me.” + </p> + <p> + He took the amber necklace and rubbed it briskly. Then he asked her to + present her knuckle to the gem. A bright spark was the result. This was + repeated for some hours. The light was not brilliant, but it was enough + for the purposes of propriety, and satisfied the delicately minded girl. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly there was a tearing, hissing noise and a smell of gas. Little + looked up and turned pale. The balloon, at what I shall call the pointed + end of the Bologna sausage, was evidently bursting from increased + pressure. The gas was escaping, and already they were beginning to + descend. Little was resigned but firm. + </p> + <p> + “If the silk gives way, then we are lost. Unfortunately I have no rope nor + material for binding it.” + </p> + <p> + The woman’s instinct had arrived at the same conclusion sooner than the + man’s reason. But she was hesitating over a detail. + </p> + <p> + “Will you go down the rope for a moment?” she said, with a sweet smile. + </p> + <p> + Little went down. Presently she called to him. She held something in her + hand,—a wonderful invention of the seventeenth century, improved and + perfected in this: a pyramid of sixteen circular hoops of light yet strong + steel, attached to each other by cloth bands. + </p> + <p> + With a cry of joy Little seized them, climbed to the balloon, and fitted + the elastic hoops over its conical end. Then he returned to the car. + </p> + <p> + “We are saved.” Lady Caroline, blushing, gathered her slim but antique + drapery against the other end of the car. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0053"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER X + </h3> + <p> + They were slowly descending. Presently Lady Caroline distinguished the + outlines of Raby Hall. + </p> + <p> + “I think I will get out here,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Little anchored the balloon, and prepared to follow her. + </p> + <p> + “Not so, my friend,” she said, with an arch smile. “We must not be seen + together. People might talk. Farewell.” + </p> + <p> + Little sprang again into the balloon and sped away to America. He came + down in California, oddly enough in front of Hardin’s door, at Dutch Flat. + Hardin was just examining a specimen of ore. + </p> + <p> + “You are a scientist; can you tell me if that is worth anything?” he said, + handing it to Little. + </p> + <p> + Little held it to the light. “It contains ninety per cent of silver.” + </p> + <p> + Hardin embraced him. “Can I do anything for you, and why are you here?” + </p> + <p> + Little told his story. Hardin asked to see the rope. Then he examined it + carefully. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, this was cut, not broken!” + </p> + <p> + “With a knife?” asked Little. + </p> + <p> + “No. Observe both sides are equally indented. It was done with a <i>scissors</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “Just Heaven!” gasped Little. “Therese!” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER XI + </h3> + <p> + Little returned to London. Passing through London one day he met a + dog-fancier. + </p> + <p> + “Buy a nice poodle, sir?” + </p> + <p> + Something in the animal attracted his attention. + </p> + <p> + “Fido!” he gasped. + </p> + <p> + The dog yelped. + </p> + <p> + Little bought him. On taking off his collar a piece of paper rustled to + the floor. He knew the handwriting and kissed it. It ran:— + </p> + <p> + To THE HONORABLE AUGUSTUS RABY—I cannot marry you. If I marry any + one [sly puss] it will be the man who has twice saved my life, Professor + Little. CAROLINE COVENTRY. + </p> + <p> + And she did. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0096"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + LOTHAW + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + OR + </div> + <p> + THE ADVENTURES OF A YOUNG GENTLEMAN IN SEARCH OF A RELIGION BY MR. + BENJAMINS <a id="2HCH0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER I + </h3> + <p> + “I remember him a little boy,” said the Duchess. “His mother was a dear + friend of mine; you know she was one of my bridesmaids.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have never seen him since, mamma?” asked the oldest married + daughter, who did not look a day older than her mother. + </p> + <p> + “Never; he was an orphan shortly after. I have often reproached myself, + but it is so difficult to see boys.” + </p> + <p> + This simple yet first-class conversation existed in the morning-room of + Plusham, where the mistress of the palatial mansion sat involved in the + sacred privacy of a circle of her married daughters. One dexterously + applied golden knitting-needles to the fabrication of a purse of floss + silk of the rarest texture, which none who knew the almost fabulous wealth + of the Duke would believe was ever destined to hold in its silken meshes a + less sum than 1,000,000 pounds; another adorned a slipper exclusively with + seed pearls; a third emblazoned a page with rare pigments and the finest + quality of gold leaf. Beautiful forms leaned over frames glowing with + embroidery, and beautiful frames leaned over forms inlaid with + mother-of-pearl. Others, more remote, occasionally burst into melody as + they tried the passages of a new and exclusive air given to them in MS. by + some titled and devoted friend, for the private use of the aristocracy + alone, and absolutely prohibited for publication. + </p> + <p> + The Duchess, herself the superlative of beauty, wealth, and position, was + married to the highest noble in the Three Kingdoms. Those who talked about + such matters said that their progeny were exactly like their parents,—a + peculiarity of the aristocratic and wealthy. They all looked like brothers + and sisters, except their parents, who, such was their purity of blood, + the perfection of their manners, and the opulence of their condition, + might have been taken for their own children’s elder son and daughter. The + daughters, with one exception, were all married to the highest nobles in + the land. That exception was the Lady Coriander, who, there being no + vacancy above a marquis and a rental of 1,000,000 pounds, waited. Gathered + around the refined and sacred circle of their breakfast-table, with their + glittering coronets, which, in filial respect to their father’s Tory + instincts and their mother’s Ritualistic tastes, they always wore on their + regal brows, the effect was dazzling as it was refined. It was this + peculiarity and their strong family resemblance which led their + brother-in-law, the good-humored St. Addlegourd, to say that, “’Pon my + soul, you know, the whole precious mob looked like a ghastly pack of court + cards, you know.” St. Addlegourd was a radical. Having a rent-roll of + 15,000,000 pounds, and belonging to one of the oldest families in Britain, + he could afford to be. + </p> + <p> + “Mamma, I’ve just dropped a pearl,” said the Lady Coriander, bending over + the Persian hearth-rug. + </p> + <p> + “From your lips, sweet friend?” said Lothaw, who came of age and entered + the room at the same moment. + </p> + <p> + “No, from my work. It was a very valuable pearl, mamma; papa gave Isaacs + Sons 50,000 pounds for the two.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, indeed,” said the Duchess, languidly rising; “let us go to luncheon.” + </p> + <p> + “But, your Grace,” interposed Lothaw, who was still quite young, and had + dropped on all fours on the carpet in search of the missing gem, “consider + the value”— + </p> + <p> + “Dear friend,” interposed the Duchess with infinite tact, gently lifting + him by the tails of his dress coat, “I am waiting for your arm.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER II + </h3> + <p> + Lothaw was immensely rich. The possessor of seventeen castles, fifteen + villas, nine shooting-boxes, and seven town houses, he had other estates + of which he had not even heard. + </p> + <p> + Everybody at Plusham played croquet, and none badly. Next to their purity + of blood and great wealth, the family were famous for this accomplishment. + Yet Lothaw soon tired of the game, and after seriously damaging his + aristocratically large foot in an attempt to “tight croquet” the Lady + Aniseed’s ball, he limped away to join the Duchess. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to the hennery,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Let me go with you; I dearly love fowls—broiled,” he added + thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “The Duke gave Lady Montairy some large Cochins the other day,” continued + the Duchess, changing the subject with delicate tact. + </p> +<div class='pre'> + “Lady Montairy Quite contrairy, How do your Cochins grow?” + </div> + <p> + sang Lothaw gayly. + </p> + <p> + The Duchess looked shocked. After a prolonged silence Lothaw abruptly and + gravely said:— + </p> + <p> + “If you please, ma’am, when I come into my property I should like to build + some improved dwellings for the poor, and marry Lady Coriander.” + </p> + <p> + “You amaze me, dear friend; and yet both your aspirations are noble and + eminently proper,” said the Duchess. + </p> + <p> + “Coriander is but a child,—and yet,” she added, looking graciously + upon her companion, “for the matter of that, so are you.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER III + </h3> + <p> + Mr. Putney Giles’s was Lothaw’s first grand dinner-party. Yet, by + carefully watching the others, he managed to acquit himself creditably, + and avoided drinking out of the finger-bowl by first secretly testing its + contents with a spoon. The conversation was peculiar and singularly + interesting. + </p> + <p> + “Then you think that monogamy is simply a question of the thermometer?” + said Mrs. Putney Giles to her companion. + </p> + <p> + “I certainly think that polygamy should be limited by isothermal lines,” + replied Lothaw. + </p> + <p> + “I should say it was a matter of latitude,” observed a loud, talkative man + opposite. He was an Oxford professor with a taste for satire, and had made + himself very obnoxious to the company, during dinner, by speaking + disparagingly of a former well-known chancellor of the exchequer,—a + great statesman and brilliant novelist,—whom he feared and hated. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly there was a sensation in the room; among the females it + absolutely amounted to a nervous thrill. His Eminence, the Cardinal, was + announced. He entered with great suavity of manner, and after shaking + hands with everybody, asking after their relatives, and chucking the more + delicate females under the chin with a high-bred grace peculiar to his + profession, he sat down, saying, “And how do we all find ourselves this + evening, my dears?” in several different languages, which he spoke + fluently. + </p> + <p> + Lothaw’s heart was touched. His deeply religious convictions were + impressed. He instantly went up to this gifted being, confessed, and + received absolution. “To-morrow,” he said to himself, “I will partake of + the communion, and endow the Church with my vast estates. For the present + I’ll let the improved cottages go.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER IV + </h3> + <p> + As Lothaw turned to leave the Cardinal, he was struck by a beautiful face. + It was that of a matron, slim but shapely as an Ionic column. Her face was + Grecian, with Corinthian temples; Hellenic eyes that looked from jutting + eyebrows, like dormer-windows in an Attic forehead, completed her perfect + Athenian outline. She wore a black frock-coat tightly buttoned over her + bloomer trousers, and a standing collar. + </p> + <p> + “Your lordship is struck by that face?” said a social parasite. + </p> + <p> + “I am; who is she?” + </p> + <p> + “Her name is Mary Ann. She is married to an American, and has lately + invented a new religion.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Lothaw eagerly, with difficulty restraining himself from + rushing toward her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; shall I introduce you?” + </p> + <p> + Lothaw thought of Lady Coriander’s High Church proclivities, of the + Cardinal, and hesitated: “No, I thank you, not now.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0059"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER V + </h3> + <p> + Lothaw was maturing. He had attended two womens’ rights conventions, three + Fenian meetings, had dined at White’s, and had danced <i>vis-a-vis</i> to + a prince of the blood, and eaten off gold plates at Crecy House. + </p> + <p> + His stables were near Oxford, and occupied more ground than the + University. He was driving over there one day, when he perceived some + rustics and menials endeavoring to stop a pair of runaway horses attached + to a carriage in which a lady and gentleman were seated. Calmly awaiting + the termination of the accident, with high-bred courtesy Lothaw forbore to + interfere until the carriage was overturned, the occupants thrown out, and + the runaways secured by the servants, when he advanced and offered the + lady the exclusive use of his Oxford stables. + </p> + <p> + Turning upon him a face whose perfect Hellenic details he remembered, she + slowly dragged a gentleman from under the wheels into the light, and + presented him with ladylike dignity as her husband, Major-General + Camperdown, an American. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Lothaw carelessly, “I believe I have some land there. If I + mistake not, my agent, Mr. Putney Giles, lately purchased the State of—Illinois—I + think you call it.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. As a former resident of the city of Chicago, let me introduce + myself as your tenant.” + </p> + <p> + Lothaw bowed graciously to the gentleman, who, except that he seemed + better dressed than most Englishmen, showed no other signs of inferiority + and plebeian extraction. + </p> + <p> + “We have met before,” said Lothaw to the lady as she leaned on his arm, + while they visited his stables, the University, and other places of + interest in Oxford, “Pray tell me, what is this new religion of yours?” + </p> + <p> + “It is Woman Suffrage, Free Love, Mutual Affinity, and Communism. Embrace + it and me.” + </p> + <p> + Lothaw did not know exactly what to do. She, however, soothed and + sustained his agitated frame, and sealed with an embrace his speechless + form. The General approached and coughed slightly with gentlemanly tact. + </p> + <p> + “My husband will be too happy to talk with you further on this subject,” + she said with quiet dignity, as she regained the General’s side. “Come + with us to Oneida. Brook Farm is a thing of the past.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0060"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER VI + </h3> + <p> + As Lothaw drove toward his country-seat, The Mural Inclosure, he observed + a crowd, apparently of the working-class, gathered around a + singular-looking man in the picturesque garb of an Ethiopian serenader. + “What does he say?” inquired Lothaw of his driver. + </p> + <p> + The man touched his hat respectfully, and said, “My Mary Ann.” + </p> + <p> + “‘My Mary Ann!’” Lothaw’s heart beat rapidly. Who was this mysterious + foreigner? He had heard from Lady Coriander of a certain Popish plot; but + could he connect Mr. Camperdown with it? + </p> + <p> + The spectacle of two hundred men at arms, who advanced to meet him at the + gates of The Mural Inclosure, drove all else from the still youthful and + impressible mind of Lothaw. Immediately behind them, on the steps of the + baronial halls, were ranged his retainers, led by the chief cook and + bottle-washer and head crumb-remover. On either side were two companies of + laundry-maids, preceded by the chief crimper and flutter, supporting a long + Ancestral Line, on which depended the family linen, and under which the + youthful lord of the manor passed into the halls of his fathers. + Twenty-four scullions carried the massive gold and silver plate of the + family on their shoulders, and deposited it at the feet of their master. + The spoons were then solemnly counted by the steward, and the perfect + ceremony ended. + </p> + <p> + Lothaw sighed. He sought out the gorgeously gilded “Taj,” or sacred + mausoleum erected to his grandfather in the second-story front room, and + wept over the man he did not know. + </p> + <p> + He wandered alone in his magnificent park, and then, throwing himself on a + grassy bank, pondered on the Great First Cause and the necessity of + religion. “I will send Mary Ann a handsome present,” said Lothaw + thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0061"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER VII + </h3> + <p> + “Each of these pearls, my lord, is worth fifty thousand guineas,” said Mr. + Amethyst, the fashionable jeweler, as he lightly lifted a large shovelful + from a convenient bin behind his counter. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” said Lothaw carelessly, “I should prefer to see some expensive + ones.” + </p> + <p> + “Some number sixes, I suppose,” said Mr. Amethyst, taking a couple from + the apex of a small pyramid that lay piled on the shelf. “These are about + the size of the Duchess of Billingsgate’s, but they are in finer + condition. The fact is, her Grace permits her two children, the Marquis of + Smithfield and the Duke of St. Giles,—two sweet pretty boys, my + lord,—to use them as marbles in their games. Pearls require some + attention, and I go down there regularly twice a week to clean them. + Perhaps your lordship would like some ropes of pearls?” + </p> + <p> + “About half a cable’s length,” said Lothaw shortly, “and send them to my + lodgings.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Amethyst became thoughtful. “I am afraid I have not the exact number—that + is—excuse me one moment. I will run over to the Tower and borrow a + few from the crown jewels.” And before Lothaw could prevent him, he seized + his hat and left Lothaw alone. + </p> + <p> + His position certainly was embarrassing. He could not move without + stepping on costly gems which had rolled from the counter; the rarest + diamonds lay scattered on the shelves; untold fortunes in priceless + emeralds lay within his grasp. Although such was the aristocratic purity + of his blood and the strength of his religious convictions that he + probably would not have pocketed a single diamond, still he could not help + thinking that he might be accused of taking some. “You can search me, if + you like,” he said when Mr. Amethyst returned; “but I assure you, upon the + honor of a gentleman, that I have taken nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Enough, my lord,” said Mr. Amethyst, with a low bow; “we never search the + aristocracy.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0062"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER VIII + </h3> + <p> + As Lothaw left Mr. Amethyst’s, he ran against General Camperdown. “How is + Mary Ann?” he asked hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + “I regret to state that she is dying,” said the General, with a grave + voice, as he removed his cigar from his lips, and lifted his hat to + Lothaw. + </p> + <p> + “Dying!” said Lothaw incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “Alas, too true!” replied the General. “The engagements of a long + lecturing season, exposure in traveling by railway during the winter, and + the imperfect nourishment afforded by the refreshments along the road, + have told on her delicate frame. But she wants to see you before she dies. + Here is the key of my lodging. I will finish my cigar out here.” + </p> + <p> + Lothaw hardly recognized those wasted Hellenic outlines as he entered the + dimly lighted room of the dying woman. She was already a classic ruin,—as + wrecked and yet as perfect as the Parthenon. He grasped her hand silently. + </p> + <p> + “Open-air speaking twice a week, and Saleratus bread in the rural + districts, have brought me to this,” she said feebly; “but it is well. The + cause progresses. The tyrant man succumbs.” + </p> + <p> + Lothaw could only press her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Promise me one thing. Don’t—whatever you do—become a + Catholic.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “The Church does not recognize divorce. And now embrace me. I would prefer + at this supreme moment to introduce myself to the next world through the + medium of the best society in this. Good-by. When I am dead, be good + enough to inform my husband of the fact.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0063"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER IX + </h3> + <p> + Lothaw spent the next six months on an Aryan island, in an Aryan climate, + and with an Aryan race. + </p> + <p> + “This is an Aryan landscape,” said his host, “and that is a Mary Ann + statue.” It was, in fact, a full-length figure in marble of Mrs. General + Camperdown. + </p> + <p> + “If you please, I should like to become a Pagan,” said Lothaw, one day, + after listening to an impassioned discourse on Greek art from the lips of + his host. + </p> + <p> + But that night, on consulting a well-known spiritual medium, Lothaw + received a message from the late Mrs. General Camperdown, advising him to + return to England. Two days later he presented himself at Plusham. + </p> + <p> + “The young ladies are in the garden,” said the Duchess. “Don’t you want to + go and pick a rose?” she added with a gracious smile, and the nearest + approach to a wink that was consistent with her patrician bearing and + aquiline nose. + </p> + <p> + Lothaw went and presently returned with the blushing Coriander upon his + arm. + </p> + <p> + “Bless you, my children,” said the Duchess. Then turning to Lothaw, she + said: “You have simply fulfilled and accepted your inevitable destiny. It + was morally impossible for you to marry out of this family. For the + present, the Church of England is safe.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0106"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + THE HAUNTED MAN + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + BY CH—R—S D—CK—N—S. + </div> + <p> + A CHRISTMAS STORY <a id="2H_PART"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + PART I + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + THE FIRST PHANTOM + </div> + <p> + Don’t tell me that it wasn’t a knocker. I had seen it often enough, and I + ought to know. So ought the three-o’clock beer, in dirty high-lows, + swinging himself over the railing, or executing a demoniacal jig upon the + doorstep; so ought the butcher, although butchers as a general thing are + scornful of such trifles; so ought the postman, to whom knockers of the + most extravagant description were merely human weaknesses, that were to be + pitied and used. And so ought for the matter of that, etc., etc., etc. + </p> + <p> + But then it was <i>such</i> a knocker. A wild, extravagant, and utterly + incomprehensible knocker. A knocker so mysterious and suspicious that + policeman X 37, first coming upon it, felt inclined to take it instantly + in custody, but compromised with his professional instincts by sharply and + sternly noting it with an eye that admitted of no nonsense, but + confidently expected to detect its secret yet. An ugly knocker; a knocker + with a hard human face, that was a type of the harder human face within. A + human face that held between its teeth a brazen rod. So hereafter, in the + mysterious future should be held, etc., etc. + </p> + <p> + But if the knocker had a fierce human aspect in the glare of day, you + should have seen it at night, when it peered out of the gathering shadows + and suggested an ambushed figure; when the light of the street lamps fell + upon it, and wrought a play of sinister expression in its hard outlines; + when it seemed to wink meaningly at a shrouded figure who, as the night + fell darkly, crept up the steps and passed into the mysterious house; when + the swinging door disclosed a black passage into which the figure seemed + to lose itself and become a part of the mysterious gloom; when the night + grew boisterous and the fierce wind made furious charges at the knocker, + as if to wrench it off and carry it away in triumph. Such a night as this. + </p> + <p> + It was a wild and pitiless wind. A wind that had commenced life as a + gentle country zephyr, but, wandering through manufacturing towns, had + become demoralized, and, reaching the city, had plunged into extravagant + dissipation and wild excesses. A roistering wind that indulged in + Bacchanalian shouts on the street corners, that knocked off the hats from + the heads of helpless passengers, and then fulfilled its duties by + speeding away, like all young prodigals,—to sea. + </p> + <p> + He sat alone in a gloomy library listening to the wind that roared in the + chimney. Around him novels and storybooks were strewn thickly; in his lap + he held one with its pages freshly cut, and turned the leaves wearily + until his eyes rested upon a portrait in its frontispiece. And as the wind + howled the more fiercely, and the darkness without fell blacker, a strange + and fateful likeness to that portrait appeared above his chair and leaned + upon his shoulder. The Haunted Man gazed at the portrait and sighed. The + figure gazed at the portrait and sighed too. + </p> + <p> + “Here again?” said the Haunted Man. + </p> + <p> + “Here again,” it repeated in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Another novel?” + </p> + <p> + “Another novel.” + </p> + <p> + “The old story?” + </p> + <p> + “The old story.” + </p> + <p> + “I see a child,” said the Haunted Man, gazing from the pages of the book + into the fire,—“a most unnatural child, a model infant. It is + prematurely old and philosophic. It dies in poverty to slow music. It dies + surrounded by luxury to slow music. It dies with an accompaniment of + golden water and rattling carts to slow music. Previous to its decease it + makes a will; it repeats the Lord’s Prayer, it kisses the ‘boofer lady.’ + That child”— + </p> + <p> + “Is mine,” said the phantom. + </p> + <p> + “I see a good woman, undersized. I see several charming women, but they + are all undersized. They are more or less imbecile and idiotic, but always + fascinating and undersized. They wear coquettish caps and aprons. I + observe that feminine virtue is invariably below the medium height, and + that it is always simple and infantine. These women”— + </p> + <p> + “Are mine.” + </p> + <p> + “I see a haughty, proud, and wicked lady. She is tall and queenly. I + remark that all proud and wicked women are tall and queenly. That woman”— + </p> + <p> + “Is mine,” said the phantom, wringing his hands. + </p> + <p> + “I see several things continually impending. I observe that whenever an + accident, a murder, or death is about to happen, there is something in the + furniture, in the locality, in the atmosphere, that foreshadows and + suggests it years in advance. I cannot say that in real life I have + noticed it,—the perception of this surprising fact belongs”— + </p> + <p> + “To me!” said the phantom. The Haunted Man continued, in a despairing + tone,— + </p> + <p> + “I see the influence of this in the magazines and daily papers; I see weak + imitators rise up and enfeeble the world with senseless formula. I am + getting tired of it. It won’t do, Charles! it won’t do!” and the Haunted + Man buried his head in his hands and groaned. The figure looked down upon + him sternly; the portrait in the frontispiece frowned as he gazed. + </p> + <p> + “Wretched man,” said the phantom, “and how have these things affected + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Once I laughed and cried, but then I was younger. Now, I would forget + them if I could.” + </p> + <p> + “Have then your wish. And take this with you, man whom I renounce. From + this day henceforth you shall live with those whom I displace. Without + forgetting me, ’twill be your lot to walk through life as if we had not + met. But first you shall survey these scenes that henceforth must be + yours. At one to-night, prepare to meet the phantom I have raised. + Farewell!” + </p> + <p> + The sound of its voice seemed to fade away with the dying wind, and the + Haunted Man was alone. But the firelight flickered gayly, and the light + danced on the walls, making grotesque figures of the furniture. + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha!” said the Haunted Man, rubbing his hands gleefully; “now for a + whiskey punch and a cigar.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_PART2"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + PART II + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + THE SECOND PHANTOM + </div> + <p> + One! The stroke of the far-off bell had hardly died before the front door + closed with a reverberating clang. Steps were heard along the passage; the + library door swung open of itself, and the Knocker—yes, the Knocker—slowly + strode into the room. The Haunted Man rubbed his eyes,—no! there + could be no mistake about it,—it was the Knocker’s face, mounted on + a misty, almost imperceptible body. The brazen rod was transferred from + its mouth to its right hand, where it was held like a ghostly truncheon. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a cold evening,” said the Haunted Man. + </p> + <p> + “It is,” said the Goblin, in a hard, metallic voice. + </p> + <p> + “It must be pretty cold out there,” said the Haunted Man, with vague + politeness. “Do you ever—will you—take some hot water and + brandy?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the Goblin. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you’d like it cold, by way of change?” continued the Haunted Man, + correcting himself, as he remembered the peculiar temperature with which + the Goblin was probably familiar. + </p> + <p> + “Time flies,” said the Goblin coldly. “We have no leisure for idle talk. + Come!” He moved his ghostly truncheon toward the window, and laid his hand + upon the other’s arm. At his touch the body of the Haunted Man seemed to + become as thin and incorporeal as that of the Goblin himself, and together + they glided out of the window into the black and blowy night. + </p> + <p> + In the rapidity of their flight the senses of the Haunted Man seemed to + leave him. At length they stopped suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “What do you see?” asked the Goblin. + </p> + <p> + “I see a battlemented mediaeval castle. Gallant men in mail ride over the + drawbridge, and kiss their gauntleted fingers to fair ladies, who wave + their lily hands in return. I see fight and fray and tournament. I hear + roaring heralds bawling the charms of delicate women, and shamelessly + proclaiming their lovers. Stay. I see a Jewess about to leap from a + battlement. I see knightly deeds, violence, rapine, and a good deal of + blood. I’ve seen pretty much the same at Astley’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Look again.” + </p> + <p> + “I see purple moors, glens, masculine women, bare-legged men, priggish + book-worms, more violence, physical excellence, and blood. Always blood,—and + the superiority of physical attainments.” + </p> + <p> + “And how do you feel now?” said the Goblin. + </p> + <p> + The Haunted Man shrugged his shoulders. “None the better for being carried + back and asked to sympathize with a barbarous age.” + </p> + <p> + The Goblin smiled and clutched his arm; they again sped rapidly away + through the black night, and again halted. + </p> + <p> + “What do you see?” said the Goblin. + </p> + <p> + “I see a barrack-room, with a mess-table, and a group of intoxicated + Celtic officers telling funny stories, and giving challenges to duel. I + see a young Irish gentleman capable of performing prodigies of valor. I + learn incidentally that the acme of all heroism is the cornetcy of a + dragoon regiment. I hear a good deal of French! No, thank you,” said the + Haunted Man hurriedly, as he stayed the waving hand of the Goblin; “I + would rather <i>not</i> go to the Peninsula, and don’t care to have a + private interview with Napoleon.” + </p> + <p> + Again the Goblin flew away with the unfortunate man, and from a strange + roaring below them he judged they were above the ocean. A ship hove in + sight, and the Goblin stayed its flight. “Look,” he said, squeezing his + companion’s arm. + </p> + <p> + The Haunted Man yawned. “Don’t you think, Charles, you’re rather running + this thing into the ground? Of course it’s very moral and instructive, and + all that. But ain’t there a little too much pantomime about it? Come now!” + </p> + <p> + “Look!” repeated the Goblin, pinching his arm malevolently. The Haunted + Man groaned. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course, I see her Majesty’s ship Arethusa. Of course I am familiar + with her stern First Lieutenant, her eccentric Captain, her one + fascinating and several mischievous midshipmen. Of course I know it’s a + splendid thing to see all this, and not to be seasick. Oh, there, the + young gentlemen are going to play a trick on the purser. For God’s sake, + let us go,” and the unhappy man absolutely dragged the Goblin away with + him. + </p> + <p> + When they next halted, it was at the edge of a broad and boundless + prairie, in the middle of an oak opening. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said the Haunted Man, without waiting for his cue, but + mechanically, and as if he were repeating a lesson which the Goblin had + taught him,—“I see the Noble Savage. He is very fine to look at! But + I observe, under his war-paint, feathers, and picturesque blanket, dirt, + disease, and an unsymmetrical contour. I observe beneath his inflated + rhetoric deceit and hypocrisy; beneath his physical hardihood cruelty, + malice, and revenge. The Noble Savage is a humbug. I remarked the same to + Mr. Catlin.” + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said the phantom. + </p> + <p> + The Haunted Man sighed, and took out his watch. “Couldn’t we do the rest + of this another time?” + </p> + <p> + “My hour is almost spent, irreverent being, but there is yet a chance for + your reformation. Come!” + </p> + <p> + Again they sped through the night, and again halted. The sound of + delicious but melancholy music fell upon their ears. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said the Haunted Man, with something of interest in his manner,—“I + see an old moss-covered manse beside a sluggish, flowing river. I see + weird shapes: witches, Puritans, clergymen, little children, judges, + mesmerized maidens, moving to the sound of melody that thrills me with its + sweetness and purity. But, although carried along its calm and evenly + flowing current, the shapes are strange and frightful: an eating lichen + gnaws at the heart of each. Not only the clergymen, but witch, maiden, + judge, and Puritan, all wear Scarlet Letters of some kind burned upon + their hearts. I am fascinated and thrilled, but I feel a morbid + sensitiveness creeping over me. I—I beg your pardon.” The Goblin was + yawning frightfully. “Well, perhaps we had better go.” “One more, and the + last,” said the Goblin. + </p> + <p> + They were moving home. Streaks of red were beginning to appear in the + eastern sky. Along the banks of the blackly flowing river by moorland and + stagnant fens, by low houses, clustering close to the water’s edge, like + strange mollusks crawled upon the beach to dry; by misty black barges, the + more misty and indistinct seen through its mysterious veil, the river fog + was slowly rising. So rolled away and rose from the heart of the Haunted + Man, etc., etc. + </p> + <p> + They stopped before a quaint mansion of red brick. The Goblin waved his + hand without speaking. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said the Haunted Man, “a gay drawing-room. I see my old friends + of the club, of the college, of society, even as they lived and moved. I + see the gallant and unselfish men whom I have loved, and the snobs whom I + have hated. I see strangely mingling with them, and now and then blending + with their forms, our old friends Dick Steele, Addison, and Congreve. I + observe, though, that these gentlemen have a habit of getting too much in + the way. The royal standard of Queen Anne, not in itself a beautiful + ornament, is rather too prominent in the picture. The long galleries of + black oak, the formal furniture, the old portraits, are picturesque, but + depressing. The house is damp. I enjoy myself better here on the lawn, + where they are getting up a Vanity Fair. See, the bell rings, the curtain + is rising, the puppets are brought out for a new play. Let me see.” + </p> + <p> + The Haunted Man was pressing forward in his eagerness, but the hand of the + Goblin stayed him, and pointing to his feet he saw, between him and the + rising curtain, a new made grave. And bending above the grave in + passionate grief, the Haunted Man beheld the phantom of the previous + night. The Haunted Man started, and—woke. The bright sunshine + streamed into the room. The air was sparkling with frost. He ran joyously + to the window and opened it. A small boy saluted him with “Merry + Christmas.” The Haunted Man instantly gave him a Bank of England note. + “How much like Tiny Tim, Tom, and Bobby that boy looked,—bless my + soul, what a genius this Dickens has!” + </p> + <p> + A knock at the door, and Boots entered. + </p> + <p> + “Consider your salary doubled instantly. Have you read ‘David + Copperfield’?” + </p> + <p> + “Yezzur.” + </p> + <p> + “Your salary is quadrupled. What do you think of the ‘Old Curiosity + Shop’?” + </p> + <p> + The man instantly burst into a torrent of tears, and then into a roar of + laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Enough! Here are five thousand pounds. Open a porter-house, and call it + ‘Our Mutual Friend.’ Huzza! I feel so happy!” And the Haunted Man danced + about the room. + </p> + <p> + And so, bathed in the light of that blessed sun, and yet glowing with the + warmth of a good action, the Haunted Man, haunted no longer, save by those + shapes which make the dreams of children beautiful, reseated himself in + his chair, and finished “Our Mutual Friend.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0109"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + TERENCE DENVILLE + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + BY CH-L-S L-V-R + </div> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0064"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER I + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + MY HOME + </div> + <p> + The little village of Pilwiddle is one of the smallest and obscurest + hamlets on the western coast of Ireland. On a lofty crag, overlooking the + hoarse Atlantic, stands “Denville’s Shot Tower,” a corruption by the + peasantry of “D’Enville’s Chateau,” so called from my great-grandfather, + Phelim St. Remy d’Enville, who assumed the name and title of a French + heiress with whom he ran away. To this fact my familiar knowledge and + excellent pronunciation of the French language may be attributed, as well + as many of the events which covered my after life. + </p> + <p> + The Denvilles were always passionately fond of field sports. At the age of + four, I was already the boldest rider and the best shot in the country. + When only eight, I won the St. Remy Cup at the Pilwiddle races,—riding + my favorite blood-mare Hellfire. As I approached the stand amidst the + plaudits of the assembled multitude, and cries of, “Thrue for ye, Mashter + Terence,” and “oh, but it’s a Dinville!” there was a slight stir among the + gentry, who surrounded the Lord Lieutenant and other titled personages + whom the race had attracted thither. “How young he is,—a mere child, + and yet how noble-looking,” said a sweet low voice, which thrilled my + soul. + </p> + <p> + I looked up and met the full liquid orbs of the Hon. Blanche Fitzroy + Sackville, youngest daughter of the Lord Lieutenant. She blushed deeply. I + turned pale and almost fainted. But the cold, sneering tones of a + masculine voice sent the blood back again into my youthful cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Very likely the ragged scion of one of these banditti Irish gentry, who + has taken naturally to ‘the road.’ He should be at school—though I + warrant me his knowledge of Terence will not extend beyond his own name,” + said Lord Henry Somerset, aid-de-camp to the Lord Lieutenant. + </p> + <p> + A moment and I was perfectly calm, though cold as ice. Dismounting, and + stepping to the side of the speaker, I said in a low firm voice:— + </p> + <p> + “Had your lordship read Terence more carefully, you would have learned + that banditti are sometimes proficient in other arts beside horsemanship,” + and I touched his holster significantly with my hand. I had not read + Terence myself, but with the skillful audacity of my race I calculated + that a vague allusion, coupled with a threat, would embarrass him. It did. + </p> + <p> + “Ah—what mean you?” he said, white with rage. + </p> + <p> + “Enough, we are observed,” I replied; “Father Tom will wait on you this + evening; and to-morrow morning, my lord, in the glen below Pilwiddle, we + will meet again.” + </p> + <p> + “Father Tom—glen!” ejaculated the Englishman, with genuine surprise. + “What? do priests carry challenges and act as seconds in your infernal + country?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered scornfully; “why should they not? Their services are + more often necessary than those of a surgeon,” I added significantly, + turning away. + </p> + <p> + The party slowly rode off, with the exception of the Hon. Blanche + Sackville, who lingered for a moment behind. In an instant I was at her + side. Bending her blushing face over the neck of her white filly, she said + hurriedly:— + </p> + <p> + “Words have passed between Lord Somerset and yourself. You are about to + fight. Don’t deny it—but hear me. You will meet him—I know + your skill of weapons. He will be at your mercy. I entreat you to spare + his life!” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated. “Never!” I cried passionately; “he has insulted a Denville!” + </p> + <p> + “Terence,” she whispered, “Terence—<i>for my sake?</i>” + </p> + <p> + The blood rushed to my cheeks, and her eyes sought the ground in bashful + confusion. + </p> + <p> + “You love him then?” I cried bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” she said agitatedly,—“no, you do me wrong. I—I—cannot + explain myself. My father!—the Lady Dowager Sackville—the + estate of Sackville—the borough—my uncle, Fitzroy Somerset. + Ah! what am I saying? Forgive me. Oh, Terence,” she said, as her beautiful + head sank on my shoulder, “you know not what I suffer!” + </p> + <p> + I seized her hand and covered it with passionate kisses. + </p> + <p> + But the high-bred English girl, recovering something of her former + hauteur, said hastily, “Leave me, leave me, but promise!” + </p> + <p> + “I promise,” I replied enthusiastically; “I <i>will</i> spare his life!” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, Terence,—thanks!” and disengaging her hand from my lips she + rode rapidly away. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, the Hon. Captain Henry Somerset and myself exchanged + nineteen shots in the glen, and at each fire I shot away a button from his + uniform. As my last bullet shot off the last button from his sleeve, I + remarked quietly, “You seem now, my lord, to be almost as ragged as the + gentry you sneered at,” and rode haughtily away. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0065"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER II + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + THE FIGHTING FIFTY-SIXTH + </div> + <p> + When I was nineteen years old my father sold the Chateau d’ Enville, and + purchased my commission in the “Fifty-sixth” with the proceeds. “I say, + Denville,” said young McSpadden, a boy-faced ensign, who had just joined, + “you’ll represent the estate in the Army, if you won’t in the House.” Poor + fellow, he paid for his meaningless joke with his life, for I shot him + through the heart the next morning. “You’re a good fellow, Denville,” said + the poor boy faintly, as I knelt beside him; “good-by!” For the first time + since my grandfather’s death I wept. I could not help thinking that I + would have been a better man if Blanche—But why proceed? Was she not + now in Florence—the belle of the English embassy? + </p> + <p> + But Napoleon had returned from Elba. Europe was in a blaze of excitement. + The Allies were preparing to resist the Man of Destiny. We were ordered + from Gibraltar home, and were soon again en route for Brussels. I did not + regret that I was to be placed in active service. I was ambitious, and + longed for an opportunity to distinguish myself. My garrison life in + Gibraltar had been monotonous and dull. I had killed five men in duel, and + had an affair with the colonel of my regiment, who handsomely apologized + before the matter assumed a serious aspect. I had been twice in love. Yet + these were but boyish freaks and follies. I wished to be a man. + </p> + <p> + The time soon came,—the morning of Waterloo. But why describe that + momentous battle, on which the fate of the entire world was hanging? Twice + were the Fifty-sixth surrounded by French cuirassiers, and twice did we + mow them down by our fire. I had seven horses shot under me, and was + mounting the eighth, when an orderly rode up hastily, touched his cap, + and, handing me a dispatch, galloped rapidly away. + </p> + <p> + I opened it hurriedly and read:— + </p> + <p> + “LET PICTON ADVANCE IMMEDIATELY ON THE RIGHT.” + </p> + <p> + I saw it all at a glance. I had been mistaken for a general officer. But + what was to be done? Picton’s division was two miles away, only accessible + through a heavy cross-fire of artillery and musketry. But my mind was made + up. + </p> + <p> + In an instant I was engaged with an entire squadron of cavalry, who + endeavored to surround me. Cutting my way through them, I advanced boldly + upon a battery and sabred the gunners before they could bring their pieces + to bear. Looking around, I saw that I had in fact penetrated the French + centre. Before I was well aware of the locality, I was hailed by a sharp + voice in French,— + </p> + <p> + “Come here, sir!” + </p> + <p> + I obeyed, and advanced to the side of a little man in a cocked hat. + </p> + <p> + “Has Grouchy come?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet, sire,” I replied,—for it was the Emperor. + </p> + <p> + “Ha!” he said suddenly, bending his piercing eyes on my uniform; “a + prisoner?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sire,” I said proudly. + </p> + <p> + “A spy?” + </p> + <p> + I placed my hand upon my sword, but a gesture from the Emperor bade me + forbear. + </p> + <p> + “You are a brave man,” he said. + </p> + <p> + I took my snuff-box from my pocket, and, taking a pinch, replied by + handing it, with a bow, to the Emperor. + </p> + <p> + His quick eye caught the cipher on the lid. + </p> + <p> + “What! a D’Enville? Ha! this accounts for the purity of your accent. Any + relation to Roderick d’Enville?” + </p> + <p> + “My father, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “He was my schoolfellow at the Ecole Polytechnique. Embrace me!” And the + Emperor fell upon my neck in the presence of his entire staff. Then, + recovering himself, he gently placed in my hand his own magnificent + snuff-box, in exchange for mine, and hanging upon my breast the cross of + the Legion of Honor which he took from his own, he bade one of his + marshals conduct me back to my regiment. + </p> + <p> + I was so intoxicated with the honor of which I had been the recipient, + that on reaching our lines I uttered a shout of joy and put spurs to my + horse. The intelligent animal seemed to sympathize with my feelings, and + fairly flew over the ground. On a rising eminence a few yards before me + stood a gray-haired officer, surrounded by his staff. I don’t know what + possessed me, but putting spurs to my horse, I rode at him boldly, and + with one bound cleared him, horse and all. A shout of indignation arose + from the assembled staff. I wheeled suddenly, with the intention of + apologizing, but my mare misunderstood me, and, again dashing forward, + once more vaulted over the head of the officer, this time unfortunately + uncovering him by a vicious kick of her hoof. “Seize him!” roared the + entire army. I was seized. As the soldiers led me away, I asked the name + of the gray-haired officer. “That—why, that’s the DUKE OF + WELLINGTON!” + </p> + <p> + I fainted. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + For six months I had brain fever. During my illness ten grapeshot were + extracted from my body which I had unconsciously received during the + battle. When I opened my eyes I met the sweet glance of a Sister of + Charity. + </p> + <p> + “Blanche!” I stammered feebly. + </p> + <p> + “The same,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “You here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear; but hush! It’s a long story. You see, dear Terence, your + grandfather married my great-aunt’s sister, and your father again married + my grandmother’s niece, who, dying without a will, was, according to the + French law”— + </p> + <p> + “But I do not comprehend,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” said Blanche, with her old sweet smile; “you’ve had brain + fever; so go to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + I understood, however, that Blanche loved me; and I am now, dear reader, + Sir Terence Sackville, K. C. B., and Lady Blanche is Lady Sackville. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0112"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + MARY McGILLUP + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + A SOUTHERN NOVEL + </div> + <p> + AFTER BELLE BOYD WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY G. A. S-LA <a id="2H_INTR"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + INTRODUCTION + </h3> + <p> + “Will you write me up?” + </p> + <p> + The scene was near Temple Bar. The speaker was the famous rebel Mary + McGillup,—a young girl of fragile frame, and long, lustrous black + hair. I must confess that the question was a peculiar one, and, under the + circumstances, somewhat puzzling. It was true I had been kindly treated by + the Northerners, and, though prejudiced against them, was to some extent + under obligations to them. It was true that I knew little or nothing of + American politics, history, or geography. But when did an English writer + ever weigh such trifles? Turning to the speaker, I inquired with some + caution the amount of pecuniary compensation offered for the work. + </p> + <p> + “Sir!” she said, drawing her fragile form to its full height, “you insult + me,—you insult the South.” + </p> + <p> + “But look ye here, d’ye see—the tin—the blunt—the ready—the + stiff, you know. Don’t ye see, we can’t do without that, you know!” + </p> + <p> + “It shall be contingent on the success of the story,” she answered + haughtily. “In the mean time take this precious gem.” And drawing a + diamond ring from her finger, she placed it with a roll of MSS. in my + hands, and vanished. + </p> + <p> + Although unable to procure more than 1 pound 2s. 6d. from an intelligent + pawnbroker to whom I stated the circumstances and with whom I pledged the + ring, my sympathies with the cause of a downtrodden and chivalrous people + were at once enlisted. I could not help wondering that in rich England, + the home of the oppressed and the free, a young and lovely woman like the + fair author of those pages should be obliged to thus pawn her jewels—her + marriage gift—for the means to procure her bread! With the exception + of the English aristocracy,—who much resemble them,—I do not + know of a class of people that I so much admire as the Southern planters. + May I become better acquainted with both! + </p> + <p> + Since writing the above, the news of Mr. Lincoln’s assassination has + reached me. It is enough for me to say that I am dissatisfied with the + result. I do not attempt to excuse the assassin. Yet there will be men who + will charge this act upon the chivalrous South. This leads me to repeat a + remark once before made by me in this connection, which has become justly + celebrated. It is this:— + </p> + <p> + “It is usual, in cases of murder, to look for the criminal among those who + expect to be benefited by the crime. In the death of Lincoln, his + immediate successor in office alone receives the benefit of his dying.” + </p> + <p> + If her Majesty Queen Victoria were assassinated, which Heaven forbid, the + one most benefited by her decease would, of course, be his Royal Highness + the Prince of Wales, her immediate successor. It would be unnecessary to + state that suspicion would at once point to the real culprit, which would + of course be his Royal Highness. This is logic. + </p> + <p> + But I have done. After having thus stated my opinion in favor of the + South, I would merely remark that there is One who judgeth all things,—who + weigheth the cause between brother and brother,—and awardeth the + perfect retribution; and whose ultimate decision I, as a British subject, + have only anticipated. + </p> + <p> + G. A. S. <a id="2HCH0066"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER I + </h3> + <p> + Every reader of Belle Boyd’s narrative will remember an allusion to a + “lovely, fragile-looking girl of nineteen,” who rivaled Belle Boyd in + devotion to the Southern cause, and who, like her, earned the enviable + distinction of being a “rebel spy.” + </p> + <p> + I am that “fragile” young creature. Although on friendly terms with the + late Miss Boyd, now Mrs. Hardinge, candor compels me to state that nothing + but our common politics prevents me from exposing the ungenerous spirit + she has displayed in this allusion. To be dismissed in a single paragraph + after years of—But I anticipate. To put up with this feeble and + forced acknowledgment of services rendered would be a confession of a + craven spirit, which, thank God, though “fragile” and only “nineteen,” I + do not possess. I may not have the “blood of a Howard” in my veins, as + some people, whom I shall not disgrace myself by naming, claim to have, + but I have yet to learn that the race of McGillup ever yet brooked slight + or insult. I shall not say that attention in certain quarters seems to + have turned <i>some people’s</i> heads; nor that it would have been more + delicate if certain folks had kept quiet on the subject of their + courtship, and the rejection of certain offers, when it is known that + their forward conduct was all that procured them a husband! Thank Heaven, + the South has some daughters who are above such base considerations! While + nothing shall tempt me to reveal the promises to share equally the fame of + certain enterprises, which were made by one who shall now be nameless, I + have deemed it only just to myself to put my own adventures upon record. + If they are not equal to those of another individual, it is because, + though “fragile,” my education has taught me to have some consideration + for the truth. I am done. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0067"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER II + </h3> + <p> + I was born in Missouri. My dislike for the Northern scum was inherent. + This was shown, at an early age, in the extreme distaste I exhibited for + Webster’s spelling-book,—the work of a well-known Eastern + Abolitionist. I cannot be too grateful for the consideration shown by my + chivalrous father,—a gentleman of the old school,—who resisted + to the last an attempt to introduce Mitchell’s Astronomy and Geography + into the public school of our district. When I state that this same + Mitchell became afterward a hireling helot in the Yankee Army, every + intelligent reader will appreciate the prophetic discrimination of this + true son of the South. + </p> + <p> + I was eight years old when I struck the first blow for Southern freedom + against the Northern Tyrant. It is hardly necessary to state that in this + instance the oppressor was a pale, overworked New England “schoolmarm.” + The principle for which I was contending, I felt, however, to be the same. + Resenting an affront put upon me, I one day heaved a rock [Footnote: NOTE, + BY G. A. S.—In the Southwest, any stone larger than a pea is termed + “a rock.”] at the head of the Vandal schoolmistress. I was seized and + overpowered. My pen falters as I reach the climax. English readers will + not give credit to this sickening story,—the civilized world will + avert its head,—but I, Mary McGillup, was publicly SPANKED! + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0068"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER III + </h3> + <p> + But the chaotic vortex of civil war approached, and fell destruction, + often procrastinated, brooded in storm. [Footnote: I make no pretension to + fine writing, but perhaps Mrs. Hardinge can lay over that. Oh, of course! + M. McG.] As the English people may like to know what was really the origin + of the Rebellion, I have no hesitation in giving them the true and only + cause. Slavery had nothing to do with it, although the violation of the + Declaration of Independence, in the disregard by the North of the Fugitive + Slave Law, [Footnote: The Declaration of Independence grants to each + subject “the pursuit of life, liberty, and happiness.” A fugitive slave + may be said to personify “life, liberty, and happiness.” Hence his pursuit + is really legal. This is logic. G.A.S.] might have provoked a less fiery + people than the Southrons. At the inception of the struggle a large amount + of Southern indebtedness was held by the people of the North. To force + payment from the generous but insolvent debtor—to obtain liquidation + from the Southern planter—was really the soulless and mercenary + object of the craven Northerners. Let the common people of England look to + this. Let the improvident literary hack, the starved impecunious Grub + Street debtor, the newspaper frequenter of sponging-houses, remember this + in their criticisms of the vile and slavish Yankee. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0069"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER IV + </h3> + <p> + The roasting of an Abolitionist, by a greatly infuriated community, was my + first taste of the horrors of civil war. Heavens! Why will the North + persist in this fratricidal warfare? The expulsion of several Union + refugees, which soon followed, now fairly plunged my beloved State into + the seething vortex. + </p> + <p> + I was sitting at the piano one afternoon, singing that stirring refrain, + so justly celebrated, but which a craven spirit, unworthy of England, has + excluded from some of her principal restaurants, and was dwelling with + some enthusiasm on the following line:— + </p> +<div class='pre'> + “Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum!” + </div> + <p> + when a fragment of that scum, clothed in that detestable blue uniform + which is the symbol of oppression, entered the apartment. + </p> + <p> + “I have the honor of addressing the celebrated rebel spy, Miss McGillup?” + said the Vandal officer. + </p> + <p> + In a moment I was perfectly calm. With the exception of slightly + expectorating twice in the face of the minion, I did not betray my + agitation. Haughtily, yet firmly, I replied,— + </p> + <p> + “I am.” + </p> + <p> + “You looked as if you might be,” the brute replied, as he turned on his + heel to leave the apartment. + </p> + <p> + In an instant I threw myself before him. “You shall not leave here thus,” + I shrieked, grappling him with an energy which no one, seeing my frail + figure, would have believed. “I know the reputation of your hireling crew. + I read your dreadful purpose in your eye. Tell me not that your designs + are not sinister. You came here to insult me,—to kiss me, perhaps. + You shan’t,—you naughty man. Go away!” + </p> + <p> + The blush of conscious degradation rose to the cheek of the Lincoln + hireling as he turned his face away from mine. + </p> + <p> + In an instant I drew my pistol from my belt, which, in anticipation of + some such outrage, I always carried, and shot him. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0070"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER V + </h3> +<div class='pre'> + “Thy forte was less to act than speak, Maryland! Thy politics were + changed each week, Maryland! With Northern Vandals thou wast meek, + With sympathizers thou wouldst shriek, I know thee—oh, ’twas like + thy cheek! Maryland! my Maryland!” + </div> + <p> + After committing the act described in the preceding chapter, which every + English reader will pardon, I went upstairs, put on a clean pair of + stockings, and, placing a rose in my lustrous black hair, proceeded at + once to the camp of Generals Price and Mosby to put them in possession of + information which would lead to the destruction of a portion of the + Federal Army. During a great part of my flight I was exposed to a running + fire from the Federal pickets of such coarse expressions as, “Go it, Sally + Reb,” “Dust it, my Confederate Beauty,” but I succeeded in reaching the + glorious Southern camp uninjured. + </p> + <p> + In a week afterwards I was arrested, by a lettre de cachet of Mr. Stanton, + and placed in the Bastile. British readers of my story will express + surprise at these terms, but I assure them that not only these articles + but tumbrils, guillotines, and conciergeries were in active use among the + Federals. If substantiation be required, I refer to the Charleston + “Mercury,” the only reliable organ, next to the New York “Daily News,” + published in the country. At the Bastile I made the acquaintance of the + accomplished and elegant author of “Guy Livingstone,” [Footnote: The + recent conduct of Mr. Livingstone renders him unworthy of my notice. His + disgusting praise of Belle Boyd, and complete ignoring of my claims, show + the artfulness of some females and puppyism of some men. M. McG.] to whom + I presented a curiously carved thigh-bone of a Union officer, and from + whom I received the following beautiful acknowledgment:— + </p> + <p> + DEMOISELLE:—Should I ever win hame to my ain countrie, I make mine + avow to enshrine in my reliquaire this elegant bijouterie and offering of + La belle Rebelle. Nay, methinks this fraction of man’s anatomy were some + compensation for the rib lost by the “grand old gardener,” Adam. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0071"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER VI + </h3> + <p> + Released at last from durance vile, and placed on board of an Erie + canal-boat, on my way to Canada, I for a moment breathed the sweets of + liberty. Perhaps the interval gave me opportunity to indulge in certain + reveries which I had hitherto sternly dismissed. Henry Breckinridge + Folair, a consistent Copperhead, captain of the canal-boat, again and + again pressed that suit I had so often rejected. + </p> + <p> + It was a lovely moonlight night. We sat on the deck of the gliding craft. + The moonbeam and the lash of the driver fell softly on the flanks of the + off horse, and only the surging of the tow-rope broke the silence. + Folair’s arm clasped my waist. I suffered it to remain. Placing in my lap + a small but not ungrateful roll of checkerberry lozenges, he took the + occasion to repeat softly in my ear the words of a motto he had just + unwrapped—with its graceful covering of the tissue paper—from + a sugar almond. The heart of the wicked little rebel, Mary McGillup, was + won! + </p> + <p> + The story of Mary McGillup is done. I might have added the journal of my + husband, Henry Breckinridge Folair, but as it refers chiefly to his + freights and a schedule of his passengers, I have been obliged, + reluctantly, to suppress it. + </p> + <p> + It is due to my friends to say that I have been requested not to write + this book. Expressions have reached my ears, the reverse of complimentary. + I have been told that its publication will probably insure my banishment + for life. Be it so. If the cause for which I labored have been subserved, + I am content. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0120"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + THE HOODLUM BAND + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + OR + </div> + <p> + THE BOY CHIEF, THE INFANT POLITICIAN, AND THE PIRATE PRODIGY <a id="2HCH0072"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER I + </h3> + <p> + It was a quiet New England village. Nowhere in the valley of the + Connecticut the autumn sun shone upon a more peaceful, pastoral, + manufacturing community. The wooden nutmegs were slowly ripening on the + trees, and the white-pine hams for Western consumption were gradually + rounding into form under the deft manipulation of the hardy American + artisan. The honest Connecticut farmer was quietly gathering from his + threshing-floor the shoe-pegs, which, when intermixed with a fair + proportion of oats, offered a pleasing substitute for fodder to the effete + civilizations of Europe. An almost Sabbath-like stillness prevailed. + Doemville was only seven miles from Hartford, and the surrounding + landscape smiled with the conviction of being fully insured. + </p> + <p> + Few would have thought that this peaceful village was the home of the + three young heroes whose exploits would hereafter—But we anticipate. + </p> + <p> + Doemville Academy was the principal seat of learning in the county. Under + the grave and gentle administration of the venerable Doctor Context, it + had attained just popularity. Yet the increasing infirmities of age + obliged the doctor to relinquish much of his trust to his assistants, who, + it is needless to say, abused his confidence. Before long their brutal + tyranny and deep-laid malevolence became apparent. Boys were absolutely + forced to study their lessons. The sickening fact will hardly be believed, + but during school-hours they were obliged to remain in their seats with + the appearance, at least, of discipline. It is stated by good authority + that the rolling of croquet-balls across the floor during recitation was + objected to, under the fiendish excuse of its interfering with their + studies. The breaking of windows by baseballs, and the beating of small + scholars with bats, was declared against. At last, bloated and arrogant + with success, the under-teachers threw aside all disguise, and revealed + themselves in their true colors. A cigar was actually taken out of a + day-scholar’s mouth during prayers! A flask of whiskey was dragged from + another’s desk, and then thrown out of the window. And finally, Profanity, + Hazing, Theft, and Lying were almost discouraged. + </p> + <p> + Could the youth of America, conscious of their power, and a literature of + their own, tamely submit to this tyranny? Never! We repeat it firmly. + Never! We repeat it to parents and guardians. Never! But the fiendish + tutors, chuckling in their glee, little knew what was passing through the + cold, haughty intellect of Charles Francis Adams Golightly, aged ten; what + curled the lip of Benjamin Franklin Jenkins, aged seven; or what shone in + the bold, blue eyes of Bromley Chitterlings, aged six and a half, as they + sat in the corner of the playground at recess. Their only other companion + and confidant was the negro porter and janitor of the school, known as + “Pirate Jim.” + </p> + <p> + Fitly, indeed, was he named, as the secrets of his early wild career—confessed + freely to his noble young friends—plainly showed. A slaver at the + age of seventeen, the ringleader of a mutiny on the African coast at the + age of twenty, a privateersman during the last war with England, the + commander of a fire-ship and its sole survivor at twenty-five, with a + wild, intermediate career of unmixed piracy, until the Rebellion called + him to civil service again as a blockade runner, and peace and a desire + for rural repose led him to seek the janitorship of the Doemville Academy, + where no questions were asked and references not exchanged—he was, + indeed, a fit mentor for our daring youth. Although a man whose days had + exceeded the usual space allotted to humanity, the various episodes of his + career footing his age up to nearly one hundred and fifty-nine years, he + scarcely looked it, and was still hale and vigorous. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” continued Pirate Jim critically; “I don’t think he was any bigger + nor you, Master Chitterlings, if as big, when he stood on the fork’stle of + my ship and shot the captain o’ that East Injyman dead. We used to call + him little Weevils, he was so young-like. But, bless your hearts, boys! he + wa’n’t anything to Little Sammy Barlow, ez once crep’ up inter the + captain’s stateroom on a Rooshin frigate, stabbed him to the heart with a + jack-knife, then put on the captain’s uniform and his cocked hat, took + command of the ship, and fout her hisself.” + </p> + <p> + “Wasn’t the captain’s clothes big for him?” asked B. Franklin Jenkins + anxiously. + </p> + <p> + The janitor eyed young Jenkins with pained dignity. + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t I say the Rooshin captain was a small, a very small, man? Rooshins + is small, likewise Greeks.” + </p> + <p> + A noble enthusiasm beamed in the faces of the youthful heroes. + </p> + <p> + “Was Barlow as large as me?” asked C. F. Adams Golightly, lifting his + curls from his Jove-like brow. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but, then, he hed hed, so to speak, experiences. It was allowed that + he had pizened his schoolmaster afore he went to sea. But it’s dry + talking, boys.” + </p> + <p> + Golightly drew a flask from his jacket and handed it to the janitor. It + was his father’s best brandy. The heart of the honest old seaman was + touched. + </p> + <p> + “Bless ye, my own pirate boy!” he said in a voice suffocating with + emotion. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got some tobacco,” said the youthful Jenkins, “but it’s fine cut; I + use only that now.” + </p> + <p> + “I kin buy some plug at the corner grocery,” said Pirate Jim, “only I left + my portmoney at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Take this watch,” said young Golightly; “’tis my father’s. Since he + became a tyrant and usurper, and forced me to join a corsair’s band, I’ve + begun by dividing the property.” + </p> + <p> + “This is idle trifling,” said young Chitterlings wildly. “Every moment is + precious. Is this an hour to give to wine and wassail? Ha, we want action—action! + We must strike the blow for freedom to-night—ay, this very night. + The scow is already anchored in the mill-dam, freighted with provisions + for a three months’ voyage. I have a black flag in my pocket. Why, then, + this cowardly delay?” + </p> + <p> + The two elder youths turned with a slight feeling of awe and shame to gaze + on the glowing cheeks and high, haughty crest of their youngest comrade—the + bright, the beautiful Bromley Chitterlings. Alas! that very moment of + forgetfulness and mutual admiration was fraught with danger. A thin, + dyspeptic, half-starved tutor approached. + </p> + <p> + “It is time to resume your studies, young gentlemen,” he said, with + fiendish politeness. + </p> + <p> + They were his last words on earth. + </p> + <p> + “Down, Tyrant!” screamed Chitterlings. + </p> + <p> + “Sic him—I mean, sic semper tyrannis!” said the classical Golightly. + </p> + <p> + A heavy blow on the head from a baseball bat, and the rapid projection of + a baseball against his empty stomach, brought the tutor a limp and + lifeless mass to the ground. Golightly shuddered. Let not my young readers + blame him too rashly. It was his first homicide. “Search his pockets,” + said the practical Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + They did so, and found nothing hut a Harvard Triennial Catalogue. + </p> + <p> + “Let us fly,” said Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + “Forward to the boats!” cried the enthusiastic Chitterlings. + </p> + <p> + But C. F. Adams Golightly stood gazing thoughtfully at the prostrate + tutor. + </p> + <p> + “This,” he said calmly, “is the result of a too free government and the + common-school system. What the country needs is reform. I cannot go with + you, boys.” + </p> + <p> + “Traitor!” screamed the others. + </p> + <p> + C. F. A. Golightly smiled sadly. + </p> + <p> + “You know me not. I shall not become a pirate—but a Congressman!” + </p> + <p> + Jenkins and Chitterlings turned pale. + </p> + <p> + “I have already organized two caucuses in a baseball club, and bribed the + delegates of another. Nay, turn not away. Let us be friends, pursuing + through various ways one common end. Farewell!” They shook hands. + </p> + <p> + “But where is Pirate Jim?” asked Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + “He left us but for a moment to raise money on the watch to purchase + armament for the scow. Farewell!” + </p> + <p> + And so the gallant, youthful spirits parted, bright with the sunrise of + hope. + </p> + <p> + That night a conflagration raged in Doemville. The Doemville Academy, + mysteriously fired, first fell a victim to the devouring element. The + candy-shop and cigar-store, both holding heavy liabilities against the + academy, quickly followed. By the lurid gleams of the flames, a long, low, + sloop-rigged scow, with every mast gone except one, slowly worked her way + out of the mill-dam towards the Sound. The next day three boys were + missing—C. F. Adams Golightly, B. F. Jenkins, and Bromley + Chitterlings. Had they perished in the flames? Who shall say? Enough that + never more under these names did they again appear in the homes of their + ancestors. + </p> + <p> + Happy, indeed, would it have been for Doemville had the mystery ended + here. But a darker interest and scandal rested upon the peaceful village. + During that awful night the boarding-school of Madame Brimborion was + visited stealthily, and two of the fairest heiresses of Connecticut—daughters + of the president of a savings bank and insurance director—were the + next morning found to have eloped. With them also disappeared the entire + contents of the savings bank, and on the following day the Flamingo Fire + Insurance Company failed. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0073"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER II + </h3> + <p> + Let my young readers now sail with me to warmer and more hospitable + climes. Off the coast of Patagonia a long, low, black schooner proudly + rides the seas, that break softly upon the vine-clad shores of that + luxuriant land. Who is this that, wrapped in Persian rugs, and dressed in + the most expensive manner, calmly reclines on the quarter-deck of the + schooner, toying lightly ever and anon with the luscious fruits of the + vicinity, held in baskets of solid gold by Nubian slaves? or at intervals, + with daring grace, guides an ebony velocipede over the polished black + walnut decks, and in and out the intricacies of the rigging? Who is it? + well may be asked. What name is it that blanches with terror the cheeks of + the Patagonian navy? Who but the Pirate Prodigy—the relentless Boy + Scourer of Patagonian seas? Voyagers slowly drifting by the Silurian + beach, coasters along the Devonian shore, still shudder at the name of + Bromley Chitterlings—the Boy Avenger, late of Hartford, Connecticut. + </p> + <p> + It has been often asked by the idly curious, Why Avenger, and of what? Let + us not seek to disclose the awful secret hidden under that youthful + jacket. Enough that there may have been that of bitterness in his past + life that they “Whose soul would sicken o’er the heaving wave,” or “whose + soul would heave above the sickening wave,” did not understand. Only one + knew him, perhaps too well—a queen of the Amazons taken prisoner off + Terra del Fuego a week previous. She loved the Boy Avenger. But in vain; + his youthful heart seemed obdurate. + </p> + <p> + “Hear me,” at last he said, when she had for the seventh time wildly + proffered her hand and her kingdom in marriage, “and know once and forever + why I must decline your flattering proposal. I love another.” + </p> + <p> + With a wild, despairing cry she leaped into the sea, but was instantly + rescued by the Pirate Prodigy. Yet, even in that supreme moment, such was + his coolness, that on his way to the surface he captured a mermaid, and + placing her in charge of his steward, with directions to give her a + stateroom, with hot and cold water, calmly resumed his place by the + Amazon’s side. When the cabin door closed on his faithful servant, + bringing champagne and ices to the interesting stranger, Chitterlings + resumed his narrative with a choking voice— + </p> + <p> + “When I first fled from the roof of a tyrannical parent I loved the + beautiful and accomplished Eliza J. Sniffen. Her father was president of + the Workingmen’s Savings Bank, and it was perfectly understood that in the + course of time the entire deposits would be his. But, like a vain fool, I + wished to anticipate the future, and in a wild moment persuaded Miss + Sniffen to elope with me; and with the entire cash assets of the bank, we + fled together.” He paused, overcome with emotion. “But fate decreed it + otherwise. In my feverish haste, I had forgotten to place among the stores + of my pirate craft that peculiar kind of chocolate caramel to which Eliza + Jane was most partial. We were obliged to put into New Rochelle on the + second day out, to enable Miss Sniffen to procure that delicacy at the + nearest confectioner’s, and match some zephyr worsteds at the first fancy + shop. Fatal mistake. She went—she never returned!” In a moment he + resumed, in a choking voice, “After a week’s weary waiting, I was obliged + to put to sea again, bearing a broken heart and the broken bank of her + father. I have never seen her since.” + </p> + <p> + “And you still love her?” asked the Amazon queen excitedly. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, forever!” + </p> + <p> + “Noble youth. Here, take the reward of thy fidelity; for know, Bromley + Chitterlings, that I am Eliza Jane. Wearied with waiting, I embarked on a + Peruvian guano ship—it’s a long story, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “And altogether too thin,” said the Boy Avenger, fiercely releasing + himself from her encircling arms. “Eliza Jane’s age, a year ago, was only + thirteen, and you are forty, if a day.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” she returned sadly, “but I have suffered much, and time passes + rapidly, and I’ve grown. You would scarcely believe that this is my own + hair.” + </p> + <p> + “I know not,” he replied, in gloomy abstraction. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive my deceit,” she returned. “If you are affianced to another, let + me at least be—a mother to you.” + </p> + <p> + The Pirate Prodigy started, and tears came to his eyes. The scene was + affecting in the extreme. Several of the oldest seamen—men who had + gone through scenes of suffering with tearless eyes and unblanched cheeks—now + retired to the spirit room to conceal their emotion. A few went into + caucus in the forecastle, and returned with the request that the Amazonian + queen should hereafter be known as the “Queen of the Pirates’ Isle.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother!” gasped the Pirate Prodigy. + </p> + <p> + “My son!” screamed the Amazonian queen. + </p> + <p> + They embraced. At the same moment a loud flop was heard on the + quarter-deck. It was the forgotten mermaid, who, emerging from her + stateroom, and ascending the companion-way at that moment, had fainted at + the spectacle. The Pirate Prodigy rushed to her side with a bottle of + smelling-salts. + </p> + <p> + She recovered slowly. “Permit me,” she said, rising with dignity, “to + leave the ship. I am unaccustomed, to such conduct.” + </p> + <p> + “Hear me—she is my mother!” + </p> + <p> + “She certainly is old enough to be,” replied the mermaid. “And to speak of + that being her own hair!” she said, as she rearranged with characteristic + grace, a comb, and a small hand-mirror, her own luxuriant tresses. + </p> + <p> + “If I couldn’t afford any other clothes, I might wear a switch, too!” + hissed the Amazonian queen. “I suppose you don’t dye it on account of the + salt water? But perhaps you prefer green, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “A little salt water might improve your own complexion, love.” + </p> + <p> + “Fishwoman!” screamed the Amazonian queen. + </p> + <p> + “Bloomerite!” shrieked the mermaid. + </p> + <p> + In another instant they had seized each other. + </p> + <p> + “Mutiny! Overboard with them!” cried the Pirate Prodigy, rising to the + occasion, and casting aside all human affection in the peril of the + moment. + </p> + <p> + A plank was brought and the two women placed upon it. + </p> + <p> + “After you, dear,” said the mermaid significantly to the Amazonian queen; + “you’re the oldest.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you!” said the Amazonian queen, stepping back. “Fish is always + served first.” + </p> + <p> + Stung by the insult, with a wild scream of rage the mermaid grappled her + in her arms and leaped into the sea. + </p> + <p> + As the waters closed over them forever, the Pirate Prodigy sprung to his + feet. “Up with the black flag, and bear away for New London,” he shouted + in trumpet-like tones. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! ha! Once more the Rover is free!” + </p> + <p> + Indeed it was too true. In that fatal moment he had again loosed himself + from the trammels of human feeling and was once more the Boy Avenger. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0074"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER III + </h3> + <p> + Again I must ask my young readers to mount my hippogriff and hie with me + to the almost inaccessible heights of the Rocky Mountains. There, for + years, a band of wild and untamable savages, known as the Pigeon Feet, had + resisted the blankets and Bibles of civilization. For years the trails + leading to their camp were marked by the bones of teamsters and broken + wagons, and the trees were decked with the dying scalp-locks of women and + children. The boldest of military leaders hesitated to attack them in + their fortresses, and prudently left the scalping-knives, rifles, powder, + and shot provided by a paternal government for their welfare lying on the + ground a few miles from their encampment, with the request that they were + not to be used until the military had safely retired. Hitherto, save an + occasional incursion into the territory of the Knock-knees, a rival tribe, + they had limited their depredations to the vicinity. + </p> + <p> + But lately a baleful change had come over them. Acting under some evil + influence, they now pushed their warfare into the white settlements, + carrying fire and destruction with them. Again and again had the + Government offered them a free pass to Washington and the privilege of + being photographed, but under the same evil guidance they refused. There + was a singular mystery in their mode of aggression. Schoolhouses were + always burned, the schoolmasters taken into captivity, and never again + heard from. A palace car on the Union Pacific Railway, containing an + excursion party of teachers en route to San Francisco, was surrounded, its + inmates captured, and—their vacancies in the school catalogue never + again filled. Even a hoard of educational examiners, proceeding to + Cheyenne, were taken prisoners, and obliged to answer questions they + themselves had proposed, amidst horrible tortures. By degrees these + atrocities were traced to the malign influence of a new chief of the + tribe. As yet little was known of him but through his baleful + appellations, “Young Man who Goes for His Teacher,” and “He Lifts the Hair + of the School-Marm.” He was said to be small and exceedingly youthful in + appearance. Indeed, his earlier appellative, “He Wipes His Nose on His + Sleeve,” was said to have been given to him to indicate his still boy-like + habits. + </p> + <p> + It was night in the encampment and among the lodges of the Pigeon Toes. + Dusky maidens flitted in and out among the campfires like brown moths, + cooking the toothsome buffalo-hump, frying the fragrant bear’s-meat, and + stewing the esculent bean for the braves. For a few favored ones sput + grasshoppers were reserved as a rare delicacy, although the proud Spartan + soul of their chief scorned all such luxuries. + </p> + <p> + He was seated alone in his wigwam, attended only by the gentle Mushymush, + fairest of the Pigeon Feet maidens. Nowhere were the characteristics of + her great tribe more plainly shown than in the little feet that lapped + over each other in walking. A single glance at the chief was sufficient to + show the truth of the wild rumors respecting his youth. He was scarcely + twelve, of proud and lofty bearing, and clad completely in wrappings of + various-colored scalloped cloths, which gave him the appearance of a + somewhat extra-sized penwiper. An enormous eagle’s feather, torn from the + wing of a bald eagle who once attempted to carry him away, completed his + attire. It was also the memento of one of his most superhuman feats of + courage. He would undoubtedly have scalped the eagle but that nature had + anticipated him. + </p> + <p> + “Why is the Great Chief sad?” said Mushymush softly. “Does his soul still + yearn for the blood of the palefaced teachers? Did not the scalping of two + professors of geology in the Yale exploring party satisfy his warrior’s + heart yesterday? Has he forgotten that Gardener and King are still to + follow? Shall his own Mushymush bring him a botanist to-morrow? Speak, for + the silence of my brother lies on my heart like the snow on the mountain, + and checks the flow of my speech.” + </p> + <p> + Still the proud Boy Chief sat silent. Suddenly he said, “Hiss!” and rose + to his feet. Taking a long rifle from the ground he adjusted its sight. + Exactly seven miles away on the slope of the mountain the figure of a man + was seen walking. The Boy Chief raised the rifle to his unerring eye and + fired. The man fell. + </p> + <p> + A scout was dispatched to scalp and search the body. He presently + returned. + </p> + <p> + “Who was the paleface?” eagerly asked the chief. + </p> + <p> + “A life insurance agent.” + </p> + <p> + A dark scowl settled on the face of the chief. + </p> + <p> + “I thought it was a book peddler.” + </p> + <p> + “Why is my brother’s heart sore against the book peddler?” asked + Mushymush. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” said the Boy Chief fiercely, “I am again without my regular + dime novel—and I thought he might have one in his pack. Hear me, + Mushymush. The United States mails no longer bring me my ‘Young America’ + or my ‘Boys’ and Girls’ Weekly.’ I find it impossible, even with my + fastest scouts, to keep up with the rear of General Howard, and replenish + my literature from the sutler’s wagon. Without a dime novel or a ‘Young + America,’ how am I to keep up this Injin business?” + </p> + <p> + Mushymush remained in meditation a single moment. Then she looked up + proudly. + </p> + <p> + “My brother has spoken. It is well. He shall have his dime novel. He shall + know the kind of hairpin his sister Mushymush is.” + </p> + <p> + And she arose and gamboled lightly as the fawn out of his presence. + </p> + <p> + In two hours she returned. In one hand she held three small flaxen scalps, + in the other “The Boy Marauder,” complete in one volume, price ten cents. + </p> + <p> + “Three palefaced children,” she gasped, “were reading it in the tail-end + of an emigrant wagon. I crept up to them softly. Their parents are still + unaware of the accident,” and she sank helpless at his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Noble girl!” said the Boy Chief, gazing proudly on her prostrate form; + “and these are the people that a military despotism expects to subdue!” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0075"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER IV + </h3> + <p> + But the capture of several wagon-loads of commissary whiskey, and the + destruction of two tons of stationery intended for the general commanding, + which interfered with his regular correspondence with the War Department, + at last awakened the United States military authorities to active + exertion. A quantity of troops were massed before the Pigeon Feet + encampment, and an attack was hourly imminent. + </p> + <p> + “Shine your boots, sir?” + </p> + <p> + It was the voice of a youth in humble attire, standing before the flap of + the commanding general’s tent. + </p> + <p> + The general raised his head from his correspondence. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he said, looking down on the humble boy, “I see; I shall write that + the appliances of civilization move steadily forward with the army. Yes,” + he added, “you may shine my military boots. You understand, however, that + to get your pay you must first”— + </p> + <p> + “Make a requisition on the commissary-general, have it certified to by the + quartermaster, countersigned by the post-adjutant, and submitted by you to + the War Department”— + </p> + <p> + “And charged as stationery” added the general gently. “You are, I see, an + intelligent and thoughtful boy. I trust you neither use whiskey, tobacco, + nor are ever profane?” + </p> + <p> + “I promised my sainted mother”— + </p> + <p> + “Enough! Go on with your blacking; I have to lead the attack on the Pigeon + Feet at eight precisely. It is now half past seven” said the general, + consulting a large kitchen clock that stood in the corner of his tent. + </p> + <p> + The little bootblack looked up—the general was absorbed in his + correspondence. The bootblack drew a tin putty-blower from his pocket, + took unerring aim, and nailed in a single shot the minute hand to the + dial. Going on with his blacking, yet stopping ever and anon to glance + over the general’s plan of campaign, spread on the table before him, he + was at last interrupted by the entrance of an officer. + </p> + <p> + “Everything is ready for the attack, general. It is now eight o’clock” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible! It is only half past seven.” + </p> + <p> + “But my watch, and the watches of the staff”— + </p> + <p> + “Are regulated by my kitchen clock, that has been in my family for years. + Enough! it is only half past seven.” + </p> + <p> + The officer retired; the bootblack had finished one boot. Another officer + appeared. + </p> + <p> + “Instead of attacking the enemy, general, we are attacked ourselves. Our + pickets are already driven in.” + </p> + <p> + “Military pickets should not differ from other pickets” said the bootblack + modestly. “To stand firmly they should be well driven in.” “Ha! there is + something in that,” said the general thoughtfully. “But who are you, who + speak thus?” + </p> + <p> + Rising to his full height, the bootblack threw off his outer rags, and + revealed the figure of the Boy Chief of the Pigeon Feet. + </p> + <p> + “Treason!” shrieked the general. “Order an advance along the whole line.” + </p> + <p> + But in vain. The next moment he fell beneath the tomahawk of the Boy + Chief, and within the next quarter of an hour the United States army was + dispersed. Thus ended the battle of Bootblack Creek. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0076"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER V + </h3> + <p> + And yet the Boy Chief was not entirely happy. Indeed, at times he + seriously thought of accepting the invitation extended by the Great Chief + at Washington immediately after the massacre of his soldiers, and once + more revisiting the haunts of civilization, His soul sickened in feverish + inactivity; schoolmasters palled on his taste; he had introduced baseball, + blind hooky, marbles, and peg-top among his Indian subjects, but only with + indifferent success. The squaws persisted in boring holes through the + china alleys and wearing them as necklaces; his warriors stuck pipes in + their baseball bats, and made war-clubs of them. He could not but feel, + too, that the gentle Mushymush, although devoted to her paleface brother, + was deficient in culinary education. Her mince-pies were abominable; her + jam far inferior to that made by his Aunt Sally of Doemville. Only an + unexpected incident kept him equally from the extreme of listless + sybaritic indulgence or of morbid cynicism. Indeed, at the age of twelve, + he already had become disgusted with existence. + </p> + <p> + He had returned to his wigwam after an exhausting buffalo hunt, in which + he had slain two hundred and seventy-five buffaloes with his own hand, not + counting the individual buffalo on which he had leaped, so as to join the + herd, and which he afterward led into the camp a captive and a present to + the lovely Mushymush. He had scalped two express riders, and a + correspondent of the “New York Herald;” had despoiled the Overland Mail + stage of a quantity of vouchers which enabled him to draw double rations + from the Government, and was reclining on a bearskin, smoking and thinking + of the vanity of human endeavor, when a scout entered, saying that a + paleface youth had demanded access to his person. + </p> + <p> + “Is he a commissioner? If so, say that the red man is rapidly passing to + the happy hunting-grounds of his fathers, and now desires only peace, + blankets, and ammunition; obtain the latter, and then scalp the + commissioner.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is only a youth who asks an interview.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he look like an insurance agent? If so, say that I have already + policies in three Hartford companies. Meanwhile prepare the stake, and see + that the squaws are ready with their implements of torture.” + </p> + <p> + The youth was admitted; he was evidently only half the age of the Boy + Chief. As he entered the wigwam, and stood revealed to his host, they both + started. In another moment they were locked in each other’s arms. “Jenky, + old boy!” + </p> + <p> + “Bromley, old fel!” + </p> + <p> + B. F. Jenkins, for such was the name of the Boy Chief, was the first to + recover his calmness. Turning to his warriors he said proudly,— + </p> + <p> + “Let my children retire while I speak to the agent of our Great Father in + Washington. Hereafter no latch-keys will be provided for the wigwams of + the warriors. The practice of late hours must be discouraged.” + </p> + <p> + “How!” said the warriors, and instantly retired. + </p> + <p> + “Whisper!” said Jenkins, drawing his friend aside. “I am known here only + as the Boy Chief of the Pigeon Toes.” + </p> + <p> + “And I,” said Bromley Chitterlings proudly, “am known everywhere as the + Pirate Prodigy—the Boy Avenger of the Patagonian coast.” + </p> + <p> + “But how came you here?” + </p> + <p> + “Listen! My pirate brig, the Lively Mermaid, now lies at Meiggs’s wharf in + San Francisco, disguised as a Mendocino lumber vessel. My pirate crew + accompanied me here in a palace car from San Francisco.” + </p> + <p> + “It must have been expensive,” said the prudent Jenkins. “It was, but they + defrayed it by a collection from the other passengers, you understand. The + papers will be full of it to-morrow. Do you take in the ‘New York Sun’?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I dislike their Indian policy. But why are you here?” + </p> + <p> + “Hear me, Jenk! ’T is a long and a sad story. The lovely Eliza J. Sniffen, + who fled with me from Doemville, was seized by her parents and torn from + my arms at New Rochelle. Reduced to poverty by the breaking of the savings + bank of which he was president—a failure to which I largely + contributed, and the profits of which I enjoyed—I have since + ascertained that Eliza Jane Sniffen was forced to become a schoolmistress, + departed to take charge of a seminary in Colorado, and since then has + never been heard from.” + </p> + <p> + Why did the Boy Chief turn pale, and clutch at the tent-pole for support? + Why, indeed? + </p> + <p> + “Eliza Jane Sniffen,” gasped Jenkins,—“aged fourteen, red-haired, + with a slight tendency to strabismus?” + </p> + <p> + “The same.” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven help me! She died by my mandate!” + </p> + <p> + “Traitor!” shrieked Chitterlings, rushing at Jenkins with a drawn poniard. + </p> + <p> + But a figure interposed. The slight girlish form of Mushymush with + outstretched hands stood between the exasperated Pirate Prodigy and the + Boy Chief. + </p> + <p> + “Forbear,” she said sternly to Chitterlings; “you know not what you do.” + </p> + <p> + The two youths paused. + </p> + <p> + “Hear me,” she said rapidly. “When captured in a confectioner’s shop at + New Rochelle, E. J. Sniffen was taken back to poverty. She resolved to + become a schoolmistress. Hearing of an opening in the West, she proceeded + to Colorado to take exclusive charge of the pensionnat of Mdme. Choflie, + late of Paris. On the way thither she was captured by the emissaries of + the Boy Chief”— + </p> + <p> + “In consummation of a fatal vow I made, never to spare educational + instructors,” interrupted Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + “But in her captivity,” continued Mushymush, “she managed to stain her + face with poke-berry juice, and mingling with the Indian maidens was + enabled to pass for one of the tribe. Once undetected, she boldly + ingratiated herself with the Boy Chief,—how honestly and devotedly + he best can tell,—for I, Mushymush, the little sister of the Boy + Chief, am Eliza Jane Sniffen.” + </p> + <p> + The Pirate Prodigy clasped her in his arms. The Boy Chief, raising his + hand, ejaculated,— + </p> + <p> + “Bless you, my children!” + </p> + <p> + “There is but one thing wanting to complete this reunion,” said + Chitterlings, after a pause, but the hurried entrance of a scout stopped + his utterance. + </p> + <p> + “A commissioner from the Great Father in Washington.” + </p> + <p> + “Scalp him!” shrieked the Boy Chief; “this is no time for diplomatic + trifling.” + </p> + <p> + “We have; but he still insists upon seeing you, and has sent in his card.” + </p> + <p> + The Boy Chief took it, and read aloud, in agonized accents,— + </p> + <p> + “Charles Francis Adams Golightly, late page in United States Senate, and + acting commissioner of United States.” + </p> + <p> + In another moment, Golightly, pale, bleeding, and, as it were, prematurely + bald, but still cold and intellectual, entered the wigwam. They fell upon + his neck and begged his forgiveness. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t mention it,” he said quietly; “these things must and will happen + under our present system of government. My story is brief. Obtaining + political influence through caucuses, I became at last page in the Senate. + Through the exertions of political friends, I was appointed clerk to the + commissioner whose functions I now represent. Knowing through political + spies in your own camp who you were, I acted upon the physical fears of + the commissioner, who was an ex-clergyman, and easily induced him to + deputize me to consult with you. In doing so, I have lost my scalp, but as + the hirsute signs of juvenility have worked against my political progress, + I do not regret it. As a partially bald young man I shall have more power. + The terms that I have to offer are simply this: you can do everything you + want, go anywhere you choose, if you will only leave this place. I have a + hundred-thousand-dollar draft on the United States Treasury in my pocket + at your immediate disposal.” + </p> + <p> + “But what’s to become of me?” asked Chitterlings. + </p> + <p> + “Your case has already been under advisement. The Secretary of State, who + is an intelligent man, has determined to recognize you as <i>de jure</i> + and <i>de facto</i> the only loyal representative of the Patagonian + Government. You may safely proceed to Washington as its envoy + extraordinary. I dine with the secretary next week.” + </p> + <p> + “And yourself, old fellow?” + </p> + <p> + “I only wish that twenty years from now you will recognize by your + influence and votes the rights of C. F. A. Golightly to the presidency.” + </p> + <p> + And here ends our story. Trusting that my dear young friends may take + whatever example or moral their respective parents and guardians may deem + fittest from these pages, I hope in future years to portray further the + career of those three young heroes I have already introduced in the + springtime of life to their charitable consideration. + </p> + <hr /> +<div class='pre'> + EARLIER SKETCHES +</div> + <hr /> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0126"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + M’LISS + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + AN IDYL OF RED MOUNTAIN + </div> + <p> + [Pagenote: There are two forms of this tale. The earlier one is that + printed originally in <i>The Golden Era</i> and afterward and until this + time included in Mr. Harte’s collected writings. It is comprised in four + chapters and occupies about thirty pages. When the present edition was + under consideration, Mr. Harte called his publishers’ attention to the + fact that the editor of the same paper proposed to him some time later to + continue it as a serial. In order to do this, he found himself obliged to + make some changes in the earlier incidents. Accordingly he republished the + story in its first form, but with some interpolations and alterations, and + then proceeded with other chapters, making ten in all, “concluding it,” he + says, “rather abruptly when I found it was inartistically prolonged.” This + was in 1863. But even thus the story was not to be let alone. Ten years + later, in 1873, another writer took the tale up at the end of the tenth + chapter, added fifty more, and issued the whole in <i>The Golden Era</i>. + When the continuation had been running some time, Mr. Harte discovered the + fraud, and inserted a card in the same paper, advising the public that he + had nothing whatever to do with this further amplification of his story. + Afterward, when the whole was published in book form, he instituted legal + proceedings and suppressed the sale. + </p> + <p> + The present form is Mr. Harte’s revision and extension of his first, and + is reprinted from <i>The Golden Era</i> with his consent. EDITOR.] + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0077"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER I + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + SMITH’S POCKET + </div> + <p> + Just where the Sierra Nevada begins to subside in gentle undulations, and + the rivers grow less rapid and yellow, on the side of a great red mountain + stands Smith’s Pocket. Seen from the red road at sunset, in the red light + and the red dust, its white houses look like the outcroppings of quartz on + the mountain side. The red stage, topped with red-shirted passengers, is + lost to view half a dozen times in the tortuous descent, turning up + unexpectedly in out-of-the-way places, and vanishing altogether within a + hundred yards of the town. It is probably owing to this sudden twist in + the road that the advent of a stranger at Smith’s Pocket is usually + attended with a peculiar circumstance. Dismounting from the vehicle at the + stage office the too-confident traveler is apt to walk straight out of + town under the impression that it lies in quite another direction. It is + related that one of the tunnel men, two miles from town, met one of these + self-reliant passengers with a carpetbag, umbrella, “Harper’s Magazine,” + and other evidences of “civilization and refinement,” plodding along over + the road he had just ridden, vainly endeavoring to find the settlement of + Smith’s Pocket. + </p> + <p> + Had he been an observant traveler he might have found some compensation + for his disappointment in the weird aspect of that vicinity. There were + huge fissures on the hillside, and displacements of the red soil, + resembling more the chaos of some primary elementary upheaval than the + work of man; while, halfway down, a long flume straddled its narrow body + and disproportionate legs over the chasm, like an enormous fossil of some + forgotten antediluvian. At every step smaller ditches crossed the road, + hiding in their shallow depths unlovely streams that crept away to a + clandestine union with the great yellow torrent below. Here and there the + ruins of some cabin, with the chimney alone left intact and the + hearthstone open to the skies, gave such a flat contradiction to the + poetic delusion of Lares and Penates that the heart of the traveler must + have collapsed as he gazed, and even the bar-room of the National Hotel + have afterward seemed festive, and invested with preternatural comfort and + domesticity. + </p> + <p> + The settlement of Smith’s Pocket owed its origin to the finding of a + “pocket” on its site by a veritable Smith. Five thousand dollars were + taken out of it in one half-hour by Smith. Three thousand dollars were + expended by Smith and others in erecting a flume and in tunneling. And + then Smith’s Pocket was found to be only a pocket, and subject like other + pockets to depletion. Although Smith pierced the bowels of the great red + mountain, that five thousand dollars was the first and the last return of + his labor. The mountain grew reticent of its golden secrets, and the flume + steadily ebbed away the remainder of Smith’s fortune. Then Smith went into + quartz mining. Then into quartz milling. Then into hydraulics and + ditching, and then by easy degrees into saloon keeping. Presently it was + whispered that Smith was drinking a good deal; then it was known that + Smith was an habitual drunkard; and then people began to think, as they + are apt to, that he had never been anything else. But the settlement of + Smith’s Pocket, like that of most discoveries, was happily not dependent + on the fortune of its pioneer, and other parties projected tunnels and + found pockets. So Smith’s Pocket became a settlement with its two fancy + stores, its two hotels, its one express office, and its two first + families. Occasionally its one long straggling street was overawed by the + assumption of the latest San Francisco fashions, imported per express, + exclusively to the first families; making outraged nature, in the ragged + outline of her furrowed surface, look still more homely, and putting + personal insult on that greater portion of the population to whom the + Sabbath, with a change of linen, brought merely the necessity of + cleanliness without the luxury of adornment. Then there was a Methodist + church, and hard by a monte bank, and a little beyond, on the mountain + side, a graveyard; and then a little schoolhouse. + </p> + <p> + “The master,” as he was known to his little flock, sat alone one night in + the schoolhouse, with some open copybooks before him, carefully making + those bold and full characters which are supposed to combine the extremes + of chirographical and moral excellence, and had got as far as “Riches are + deceitful,” and was elaborating the noun with an insincerity of flourish + that was quite in the spirit of his text, when he heard a gentle tapping. + The woodpeckers had been busy about the roof, during the day, and the + noise did not disturb his work. But the opening of the door, and the + tapping continuing from the inside, caused him to look up. He was slightly + startled by the figure of a young girl, dirty, and shabbily clad. Still + her great black eyes, her coarse uncombed lusterless black hair falling + over her sunburned face, her red arms and feet streaked with the red soil, + were all familiar to him. It was Melissa Smith—Smith’s motherless + child. + </p> + <p> + “What can she want here?” thought the master. Everybody knew “M’liss,” as + she was called, throughout the length and height of Red Mountain. + Everybody knew her as an incorrigible girl. Her fierce, ungovernable + disposition, her mad freaks and lawless character, were in their way as + proverbial as the story of her father’s weakness, and as philosophically + accepted by the townsfolk. She wrangled with and fought the schoolboys + with keener invective and quite as powerful arm. She followed the trails + with woodman’s craft, and the master had met her before, miles away, + shoeless, stockingless, and bareheaded on the mountain road. The miners’ + camps along the stream supplied her with subsistence during these + voluntary pilgrimages, in freely offered alms. Not but that a larger + protection had been previously extended to M’liss. The Rev. Joshua + McSnagley, “stated” preacher, had placed her in the hotel as servant, by + way of preliminary refinement, and had introduced her to his scholars at + Sunday-school. But she threw plates occasionally at the landlord, and + quickly retorted to the cheap witticisms of the guests, and created in the + Sabbath-school a sensation that was so inimical to the orthodox dullness + and placidity of that institution, that, with a decent regard for the + starched frocks and unblemished morals of the two pink-and-white-faced + children of the first families, the reverend gentleman had her + ignominiously expelled. Such were the antecedents and such the character + of M’liss, as she stood before the master. It was shown in the ragged + dress, the unkempt hair and bleeding feet, and asked his pity. It flashed + from her black fearless eyes, and commanded his respect. + </p> + <p> + “I come here to-night,” she said rapidly and boldly, keeping her hard + glance on his, “because I knew you was alone. I wouldn’t come here when + them gals was here. I hate ’em and they hates me. That’s why. You keep + school,—don’t you? I want to be teached!” + </p> + <p> + If to the shabbiness of her apparel and uncomeliness of her tangled hair + and dirty face she had added the humility of tears the master would have + extended to her the usual moiety of pity, and nothing more. But with the + natural though illogical instincts of his species, her boldness awakened + in him something of that respect which all original natures pay + unconsciously to one another in any grade. And he gazed at her the more + fixedly as she went on still rapidly, her hand on the door-latch and her + eyes on his. + </p> + <p> + “My name is M’liss—M’liss Smith! You can bet your life on that. My + father’s Old Smith—Old Bummer Smith—that’s what’s the matter + with him. M’liss Smith—and I’m comin’ to school!” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said the master. + </p> + <p> + Accustomed to be thwarted and opposed, often wantonly and cruelly, for no + other purpose than to excite the violent impulses of her nature, the + master’s phlegm evidently took her by surprise. She stopped. She began to + twist a lock of her hair between her fingers; and the rigid line of upper + lip, drawn over the wicked little teeth, relaxed and quivered slightly. + Then her eyes dropped, and something like a blush struggled up to her + cheek, and tried to assert itself through the splashes of redder soil and + the sunburn of years. Suddenly she threw herself forward, calling on God + to strike her dead, and fell quite weak and helpless, with her face on the + master’s desk, crying and sobbing as if her heart would break. + </p> + <p> + The master lifted her gently, and waited for the paroxysm to pass. When, + with face still averted, she was repeating between her sobs the mea culpa + of childish penitence—that “she’d be good, she didn’t mean to,” + etc., it came to him to ask her why she had left Sabbath-school. + </p> + <p> + Why had she left Sabbath-school? Why? Oh, yes. What did he (McSnagley) + want to tell her she was wicked for? What did he tell her that God hated + her for? If God hated her, what did she want to go to Sabbath school for? + <i>She</i> didn’t want to be beholden to anybody who hated her. + </p> + <p> + Had she told McSnagley this? + </p> + <p> + Yes, she had. + </p> + <p> + The master laughed. It was a hearty laugh, and echoed so oddly in the + little schoolhouse, and seemed so inconsistent and discordant with the + sighing of the pines without, that he shortly corrected himself with a + sigh. The sigh was quite as sincere in its way, however, and after a + moment of serious silence he asked about her father. + </p> + <p> + Her father. What father? Whose father? What had he ever done for her? Why + did the girls hate her? Come, now! What made the folks say, “Old Bummer + Smith’s M’liss” when she passed? Yes; oh, yes. She wished he was dead—she + was dead—everybody was dead; and her sobs broke forth anew. + </p> + <p> + The master then, leaning over her, told her, as well as he could, what you + or I might have said after hearing such unnatural theories from childish + lips, only bearing in mind perhaps better than you or I the unnatural + facts of her ragged dress, her bleeding feet, and the omnipresent shadow + of her drunken father. Then raising her to her feet, he wrapped his shawl + around her, and bidding her come early in the morning he walked with her + down the road. Then he bade her “good-night.” The moon shone brightly on + the narrow path before them. He stood and watched the bent little figure + as it staggered down the road, and waited until it had passed the little + graveyard and reached the curve of the hill, where it turned and stood for + a moment, a mere atom of suffering outlined against the far-off patient + stars. Then he went back to his work. But the lines of the copybook + thereafter faded into long parallels of never-ending road, over which + childish figures seemed to pass sobbing and crying to the night. Then, the + little schoolhouse seeming lonelier than before, he shut the door and went + home. + </p> + <p> + The next morning M’liss came to school. Her face had been washed, and her + coarse black hair bore evidence of recent struggles with the comb, in + which both had evidently suffered. The old defiant look shone occasionally + in her eyes, but her manner was tamer and more subdued. Then began a + series of little trials and self-sacrifices in which master and pupil bore + an equal part, and which increased the confidence and sympathy between + them. Although obedient under the master’s eye, at times during recess, if + thwarted or stung by a fancied slight, M’liss would rage in ungovernable + fury, and many a palpitating young savage, finding himself matched with + his own weapons of torment, would seek the master with torn jacket and + scratched face, and complaints of the dreadful M’liss. There was a serious + division among the townspeople on the subject; some threatening to + withdraw their children from such evil companionship, and others as warmly + upholding the course of the master in his work of reclamation. Meanwhile, + with a steady persistence that seemed quite astonishing to him on looking + back afterward, the Master drew M’liss gradually out of the shadow of her + past life, as though it were but her natural progress down the narrow path + on which he had set her feet the moonlight night of their first meeting. + Remembering the experience of the evangelical McSnagley, he carefully + avoided that Rock of Ages on which that unskillful pilot had shipwrecked + her young faith. But if, in the course of her reading, she chanced to + stumble upon those few words which have lifted such as she above the level + of the older, the wiser, and the more prudent,—if she learned + something of a faith that is symbolized by suffering, and the old light + softened in her eyes, it did not take the shape of a lesson. A few of the + plainer people had made up a little sum by which the ragged M’liss was + enabled to assume the garments of respect and civilization, and often a + rough shake of the hand and words of commendation from a red-shirted and + burly figure, sent a glow to the cheek of the young master and set him to + thinking if it was altogether deserved. + </p> + <p> + Three months had passed, from the time of their first meeting, and the + master was sitting late one evening over the moral and sententious copies, + when there came a tap at the door, and again M’liss stood before him. She + was neatly clad and clean-faced, and there was nothing perhaps but the + long black hair and bright black eyes to remind him of his former + apparition. “Are you busy?” she asked; “can you come with me?” and on his + signifying his readiness, in her old willful way she said, “Come, then, + quick!” + </p> + <p> + They passed out of the door together and into the dark road. As they + entered the town, the master asked her whither she was going. She replied, + “to see her father.” + </p> + <p> + It was the first time he had heard her use that filial expression, or, + indeed, allude to him in any other way than “Old Smith” or the “Old Man.” + It was the first time in many weeks that she had spoken of him at all. He + had been missed from the settlement for the past fortnight, and the master + had credited the rumors of the townsfolk that Smith had “struck something + rich” on the “North Fork,” about ten miles from the village. As they + neared the settlement, the master gathered from M’liss that the rumor was + untrue, and that she had seen her father that day. As she grew reticent to + further questioning, and as the master was satisfied from her manner that + she had some definite purpose beyond her usual willfulness, he passively + resigned himself and followed her. + </p> + <p> + Through remote groggeries, restaurants, and saloons; in gambling-hells and + dance-houses, the master, preceded by M’liss, passed and repassed. In the + reeking smoke and blasphemous outcries of noisome dens, the child, holding + the master’s hand, pursued her search with a strange familiarity, perfect + self-possession, and implied protection of himself, that even in his + anxiety seemed ludicrous. Some of the revelers, recognizing M’liss, called + to her to sing and dance for them, and would have forced liquor upon her + but for the master’s interference. Others mutely made way for them. So an + hour slipped by, and as yet their search was fruitless. The master had + yawned once or twice and whistled,—two fatal signs of failing + interest,—and finally came to a full stop. + </p> + <p> + “It’s half past eleven, Melissa,” said he, consulting his watch by a broad + pencil of light from an open shutter,—“half past eleven; and it + strikes me that our old friends, the woodpeckers, must have gone to bed + some hours ago, unless they are waiting up for us. I’m much obliged to you + for the evening’s entertainment, but I’m afraid that even the pretext of + looking for a parent won’t excuse further dissipation. We’d better put + this off till to-morrow. What do you say, Melissa? Why! what ails the + child? What’s that noise? Why, a pistol!—You’re not afraid of that?” + </p> + <p> + Few children brought up in the primeval seclusion of Smith’s Pocket were + unfamiliar with those quick and sharp notes which usually rendered the + evening zephyrs of that locality vocal; certainly not M’liss, to have + started when that report rang on the clear night air. The echoes caught it + as usual, and carried it round and round Red Mountain, and set the dogs to + barking all along the streams. The lights seemed to dance and move quickly + on the outskirts of the town for a few moments afterward, the stream + suddenly rippled quite audibly behind them, a few stones loosened + themselves from the hillside and splashed into the stream, a heavy wind + seemed to suage the branches of the funereal pines, and then the silence + fell again, heavier, deadlier than ever. + </p> + <p> + When the last echo had died away, the master felt his companion’s hand + relax its grasp. Taking advantage of this outward expression of + tractability, he drew her gently with him until they reached the hotel, + which—in her newer aspect of a guest whose board was secured by + responsible parties—had forgivingly opened its hospitable doors to + the vagrant child. Here the master lingered a moment to assure her that + she might count upon his assistance to-morrow; and having satisfied his + conscience by this anticipated duty, bade her good-night. In the darkness + of the road—going astray several times on his way home, and narrowly + escaping the yawning ditches in the trail—he had reason to commend + his foresight in dissuading M’liss from a further search that night, and + in this pleasant reflection went to hed and slept soundly. + </p> + <p> + For some hours after a darkness thick and heavy brooded over the + settlement. The sombre pines encompassing the village seemed to close + threateningly about it as if to reclaim the wilderness that had been + wrested from them. A low rustling as of dead leaves, and the damp breath + of forest odors filled the lonely street. Emboldened by the darkness other + shadows slipped by, leaving strange footprints in the moist ditches for + people to point at next day, until the moon, round and full, was lifted + above the crest of the opposite hill, and all was magically changed. + </p> + <p> + The shadows shrank away, leaving the straggling street sleeping in a + beauty it never knew by day. All that was unlovely, harsh, and repulsive + in its jagged outlines was subdued and softened by that uncertain light. + It smoothed the rough furrows and unsightly chasms of the mountain with an + ineffable love and tenderness. It fell upon the face of the sleeping + M’liss, and left a tear glittering on her black lashes and a smile on her + lip, which would have been rare to her at any other time; and fell also on + the white upturned face of “Old Smith,” with a pistol in his hand and a + bullet in his heart, lying dead beside his empty pocket. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0078"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER II + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + WHICH CONTAINS A DREAM OF THE JUST ARISTIDES + </div> + <p> + The opinion which McSnagley expressed in reference to a “change of heart,” + as experienced by M’liss, was more forcibly described in the gulches and + tunnels. It was thought there that M’liss had struck a “good lead.” And + when there was a new grave added to the little inclosure, and—at the + expense of the master—a little board and inscription put above it, + the “Red Mountain Banner” came out quite handsomely and did the correct + thing for the memory of one of “our oldest pioneers,” alluding gracefully + to that “bane of noble intellects,” touching slightly on the “vicissitudes + of fortune,” and otherwise assisting our dear brother into genteel + obscurity. “He leaves an only child to mourn his loss,” said the “Banner,” + “who is now an exemplary scholar, thanks to the efforts of the Rev. J. + McSnagley.” That reverend gentleman, in fact, made a strong point of + M’liss’s conversion, and, indirectly attributing to her former bad conduct + the suicide of her father, made affecting allusions in Sunday-school to + the beneficial effects of the “silent tomb,” and in that cheerful + contemplation froze most of the children into speechless horror, and + caused the fair-complexioned scions of the first families to howl dismally + and refuse to be comforted. + </p> + <p> + Of the homes that were offered to M’liss when her conversion became known, + the master had preferred that of Mrs. Morpher, a womanly and kind-hearted + specimen of Southwestern efflorescence, known in her maidenhood as the + “Per-ra-rie Rose.” By a steady system of struggle and self-sacrifice, she + had at last subjugated her naturally careless disposition to principles of + “order,” which as a pious woman she considered, with Pope, as “Heaven’s + first law.” But she could not entirely govern the orbits of her + satellites, however regular her own movements, and her old nature asserted + itself in her children. Lycurgus dipped in the cupboard “between meals,” + and Aristides came home from school without shoes, leaving those important + articles at the threshold, for the delights of a barefooted walk down the + ditches. Octavia and Cassandra were “keerless” of their clothes. So that + with but one exception, however the “Prairie Rose” might have trimmed, + pruned, and trained her own natural luxuriance, the little shoots came up + defiantly wild and straggling. That one exception was Clytemnestra + Morpher, aged fifteen. She was the realization of her mother’s most + extravagant dream. I stay my hand with difficulty at this moment, for I + long to describe this model of deportment; but the progress of my story + just at present supplants Clytemnestra in the larger prominence it gives + to another member of the family,—the just Aristides. + </p> + <p> + The long dry summer had come. As each fierce day seemed to burn itself out + in little whiffs of pearl gray smoke on the mountain summits, and as the + upspringing breeze scattered what might have been its red embers over the + landscape, the green wave which, in early spring, had upheaved above + Smith’s grave grew sere and dry and hard. In those days, the master, + strolling in the little churchyard of a Sabbath afternoon, was sometimes + surprised to find a few wild flowers, plucked from the damp pine forest, + scattered there, and oftener rude wreaths hung upon the little pine cross. + Most of these wreaths were formed of a sweet-scented grass which the + children loved to keep in their desks, entwined with the pompon-like + plumes of the buckeye and syringa, the wood anemone, and here and there + the master noticed the dark blue cowl of the monk’s-hood or deadly + aconite. One day, during a walk, in crossing a wooded ridge, he came upon + M’liss in the heart of the forest, perched upon a prostrate pine, on a + fantastic throne, formed by the hanging plumes of lifeless branches, her + lap full of grasses and pine burrs, and crooning to the just Aristides, + who sat humbly at her feet, one of the negro melodies of her younger life. + It was perhaps the influence of the season, or the memory of this sylvan + enjoyment, which caused Aristides, one midsummer day, to have a singular + vision. + </p> + <p> + The just Aristides had begun that morning with a serious error. Loitering + on his way to school, occasionally stopping to inspect the footprints of + probable bears, or indulging in cheerful badinage with the tunnel men,—to + whom the apparition of a short-legged boy weighed down by a + preternaturally large satchel was an object of boisterous solicitude,—Aristides + suddenly found that he was an hour and a half too late for school. Whether + this circumstance was purely accidental or not is a question of some + uncertainty, for Aristides, on finding himself occupying this criminal + position, at once resolved to play truant. I shall not stop to inquire by + what system of logic this result presented itself to that just youth as a + consistent deduction, or whether some indistinct apprehension of another + and a better world beyond the settlement, where there were no schools and + blackberries were plenty, had not influenced him in taking this fatal + step. Enough that he entered on his rash career by instantly eating the + dinner which he carried with him, and having propitiated that terrible god + whose seat is every small boy’s stomach, with a feeling of inexpressible + guiltiness creeping over him, he turned his back upon the schoolhouse and + ran into the woods. + </p> + <p> + Away from the glare of the red road, how deliciously cool was the damp + breath and twilight dimness of the stately pines. How they seemed to + welcome him in their deepest recesses, ranging themselves silently around + him as he ran, shutting out the world and its schoolhouses, and the + pursuit of indignant parents and vindictive teachers. How in the forest + depths the blue jay called to him mockingly, and the kingbird, spreading + his tail like a crimson pennant, beckoned him onward. How there was + recognition and greeting even in the squirrel that scampered past him, + mischievously whisking his ridiculous tail within an inch of his + outstretched fingers. And how Aristides, at last flinging away hat, shoes, + and satchel, uttered a shrill whoop and dashed forward like a youthful + savage. But are not these things written in the dog’s-eared pages of every + boy’s memory, even though they seemed afterward to the just Aristides a + part and parcel of his own strange vision? + </p> + <p> + Yet even such delights had their hour of culmination, and Aristides found + himself at high noon back on the road again in a state of feverish + excitement, carrying a ravished jay’s nest, two pine cones, a dead hare, + and a plume of the white syringa. Somewhat overpowered by the weight of + these trophies, which he had collected in the vague belief that they would + be of future service to him, he began to look about for some convenient + place to bestow his booty. It was nearly time for the great Wingdam stage + to go by, and when it came at last with a sharp rattle of wheels and + prancing of horses, and a red pillar of dust hanging over it that partook + of both the fiery and cloudy attributes of the Israelitish sign, Aristides + exchanged epithets with the driver, and, although standing knee-deep in + red dust, felt a thrill of joy in the recognition which no future honor or + dignity might ever give him. + </p> + <p> + Retracing his steps, the truant presently came to a semicircular opening + in the side of Red Mountain, which inclosed, like the walls of some vast + amphitheatre, what had been the arena of the early struggles of the + gladiators of fortune. There were terrible traces of that struggle still—in + the rock blasted by fire—in the bank furrowed by water—and in + the debris of Red Mountain scattered along the gulch two miles in extent. + Their forgotten engines were lying half buried in the ditches—the + primeval structure which had served them for a banking-house was roofless, + and held the hoards of field-mice and squirrels. The unshapely stumps of + ancient pines dotted the ground, and Aristides remembered that under the + solitary redwood, which of all its brothers remained still standing, one + of those early pioneers lay buried. No wonder that, as the gentle breeze + of that summer day swept through its branches, the just Aristides might + have heard, as part of his wonderful dream, some echo of its far off + brothers of Lebanon, saying, “Since thou art fallen, no feller has risen + up against us!” + </p> + <p> + But the short legs of Aristides were aching, and he was getting thirsty. + There was a rough cavern close at hand; and as most of these openings + condensed their general dampness somewhere in quiet pools, Aristides + turned into the first one. When he had slaked his thirst, he looked around + him and recognized Smith’s Pocket. + </p> + <p> + It had undergone little change in the last two years. The winter rains had + detached those portions of the wall which were not upheld by decaying + timbers. It was certainly a dirty pocket—a pocket filled with + rubbish—a shabby pocket—a worn-out and ragged pocket. It was + so unpromising in its present exterior, so graphic in its story of + misfortune, and so terrible in its recent memories, that the most sanguine + prospector would have passed it by, as though the hopeless sentence of + Dante had been written over its ragged portal. + </p> + <p> + The active mind of Aristides, however, saw in the lurking shadows of its + arches much promise as a future play-room, to which he intended to induct + hereafter his classical brother Lycurgus. In this reflection he threw + himself on the ground, and luxuriously burying his bare feet in the cool, + loose soil, gave himself up to serene meditation. But the heat and + exertion were beginning to exert a certain influence over him, and once or + twice his eyes closed. The water rippled beside him with a sleepy sound. + The sunlight on the hill without made him wink. The long-drawn cawing of a + crow on the opposite hillside, and the buzzing of a bluebottle fly who had + sought retreat in the cavern, had a like effect, and he felt himself + falling asleep. How long he slept, or if he slept at all, he could not + remember, for he started suddenly, and, listening a moment, sprang to his + feet. The low, heavy blows of a pick came deadened and muffled from the + extremity of the cavern. + </p> + <p> + At first a terrible fear took possession of him; for an instant the white, + rigid face of Smith, as he had seen it on the day of the inquest, when an + irresistible curiosity led him to creep into the room where the dead man + was lying—for an instant only, this fearful remembrance seemed to + rise before him out of the gloom of the pit. The terror passed away. + </p> + <p> + Ghosts were historically unknown to Aristides, and even had his + imaginative faculty been more prominent, the education of Smith’s Pocket + was not of a kind to foster such weaknesses. Except a twinge of + conscience, a momentary recollection of the evil that comes to bad boys + through the severe pages of Sunday-school books—with this exception, + Aristides was not long in recovering his self-possession. He did not run + away, for his curiosity was excited. The same instinct which prompted an + examination of bear-tracks gave a fascination to the situation, and a + nervous energy to his frame. + </p> + <p> + The regular blows of the pick still resounded through the cavern. He crept + cautiously to the deepest recesses of the pocket, and held his breath and + listened. The sound seemed to come from the bowels of the mountain. There + was no sign of opening or ingress; an impenetrable veil of quartz was + between him and the mysterious laborer. He was creeping back, between the + displaced rafters, when a light glanced suddenly in his face, and flashed + on the wet roof above him. Looking fearfully down, Aristides beheld + between the interstices of the rafters, which formed a temporary flooring, + that there was another opening below, and in that opening a man was + working. In the queer fantasy of Aristides’s dream, it took the aspect of + a second pocket and a duplicate Smith! + </p> + <p> + He had no time to utter his astonishment, for at that moment an ominous + rattling of loose soil upon his back made him look up, and he had barely + time to spring away before a greater portion of the roof of Smith’s + Pocket, loosened by the displacement of its supports in his search, fell + heavily to the ground. But in the fall a long-handled shovel which had + been hidden somewhere in the crevices of the rock above came rattling down + with it, and, seizing this as a trophy, Aristides emerged from Smith’s + Pocket, at a rate of speed which seemed singularly disproportionate with + his short legs and round stomach. + </p> + <p> + When he reached the road the sun was setting. Inspecting his prize by that + poetic light, he found that the shovel was a new one, and bore neither + mark of use nor exposure. Shouldering it again, with the intention of + presenting it as a peace-offering to propitiate the just wrath of his + parents, Aristides had gone but a few rods when an unexpected circumstance + occurred which dashed his fond hope, and to the conscientious child seemed + the shadow of an inevitable Nemesis. At the curve of the road, as the + settlement of Smith’s Pocket came into view, with its straggling street, + and its church spire that seemed a tongue of flame in the setting sun, a + broad-shouldered figure sprang, apparently, from out of the bank, and + stood in the path of that infelix infant. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going with that shovel, you young devil?” + </p> + <p> + Aristides looked up and saw that his interlocutor was a man of powerful + figure, whose face, though partially concealed by a red handkerchief, even + in that uncertain light was not prepossessing. Children are quick + physiognomists, and Aristides, feeling the presence of evil, from the + depths of his mighty little soul then and there took issue with the giant. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going with that shovel; d—n you, do you hear?” said + he of the red handkerchief impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Home,” said Aristides stoutly. + </p> + <p> + “Home, eh!” said the stranger sneeringly. “And where did you steal it, you + young thief?” + </p> + <p> + The Morpher stock not being of a kind to receive opprobrious epithets + meekly, Aristides slowly, and with an evident effort, lifted the shovel in + a menacing attitude. + </p> + <p> + A single step was all that separated six feet of Strength from three feet + of Valor. The stranger eyed Aristides with an expression of surly + amazement, and hesitated. The elephant quailed before the gad-fly. As that + precocious infant waved the threatening shovel, his youthful lips slowly + fashioned this tremendous sentence:— + </p> + <p> + “<i>You let me pass and I won’t hit you!</i>” + </p> + <p> + And here I must pause. I would that for the sake of poetry I could leave + my hero, bathed in that heroic light, erect and menacing. But alas, in + this practical world of ours, the battle is too often to the strong. And I + hasten over the humiliating spectacle of Aristides, spanked, cuffed, and + kicked, and pick him from the ditch into which he was at last + ignominiously tossed, a defeated but still struggling warrior, and so + bring him, as the night closes charitably around him, in contrite tears + and muddy garments to his father’s door. + </p> + <p> + When the master stopped at Mrs. Morpher’s to inquire after his errant + pupil that night, he found Aristides in bed, smelling strongly of soap and + water, and sinking into a feverish sleep. As he muttered from time to time + some incoherent sentence, tossing restlessly in his cot, the master turned + to those about him and asked what it was he said. + </p> + <p> + It was nothing. Aristides had been dreaming, and that was his dream. + </p> + <p> + That was all. Yet a dream that foreshadowed a slow-coming but unerring + justice, that should give the little dreamer in after years some credit to + the title of Aristides the Just. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0079"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER III + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE + </div> + <p> + It was an amiable weakness of Mrs. Morpher to imagine that, of all her + classical progeny, Clytemnestra was particularly the model for M’liss. + Following this fallacy she threw “Clytie” at the head of M’liss when she + was “bad,” and set her up before the child for adoration in her + penitential moments. It was not therefore surprising to the master to hear + that Clytie was coming to school, obviously as a favor to the master and + as an example for M’liss and others. For Clytie was quite a young lady. + Inheriting her mother’s physical peculiarities, and in obedience to the + climatic laws of the Red Mountain region, she was an early bloomer. The + youth of Smith’s Pocket, to whom this kind of flower was rare, sighed for + her in April and languished in May. Enamored swains haunted the + schoolhouse at the hour of dismissal. A few were jealous of the master. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it was this latter circumstance that opened the master’s eyes to + another. He could not help noticing that Clytie was romantic; that in + school she required a great deal of attention; that her pens were + uniformly bad and wanted fixing; that she usually accompanied the request + with a certain expectation in her eye that was somewhat disproportionate + to the quality of service she verbally required; that she sometimes + allowed the curves of a round plump white arm to rest on his when he was + writing her copies; that she always blushed and flung back her blond curls + when she did so. I don’t remember whether I have stated that the master + was a young man—it’s of little consequence, however. He had been + severely educated in the school in which Clytie was taking her first + lesson, and on the whole withstood the flexible curves and facetious + glance like the fine young Spartan that he was. Perhaps an insufficient + quality of food may have tended to this asceticism. He generally avoided + Clytie; but one evening when she returned to the schoolhouse after + something she had forgotten,—and did not find it until the master + walked home with her,—I hear that he endeavored to make himself + particularly agreeable, partly from the fact, I imagine, that his conduct + was adding gall and bitterness to the already overcharged hearts of + Clytemnestra’s admirers. + </p> + <p> + The morning after this affecting episode, M’liss did not come to school. + Noon came, but not M’liss. Questioning Clytie on the subject, it appeared + that they had left for school together, but the willful M’liss had taken + another road. The afternoon brought her not. In the evening he called on + Mrs. Morpher, whose motherly heart was really alarmed. Mr. Morpher had + spent all day in search of her, without discovering a trace that might + lead to her discovery. Aristides was summoned as a probable accomplice, + but that equitable infant succeeding in impressing the household with his + innocence, Mrs. Morpher entertained a vivid impression that the child + would yet be found drowned in a ditch, or—what was almost as + terrible—mud-dyed and soiled beyond the redemption of soap and + water. Sick at heart, the master returned to the schoolhouse. As he lit + his lamp and seated himself at his desk, he found a note lying before him, + addressed to himself in M’liss’s handwriting. It seemed to be written on a + leaf torn from some old memorandum-book, and, to prevent sacrilegious + trifling, had been sealed with six broken wafers. Opening it almost + tenderly, the master read as follows:— + </p> + <p> + RESPECTED SIR: When you read this, I am run away. Never to come back. + Never <i>Never</i> NEVER. You can give my beeds to Mary Jennings, and my + Amerika’s Pride [a, highly colored lithograph from a tobacco box] to Sally + Flanders. But don’t you give anything to Clytie Morpher. Don’t you dair to. + Do you know what my opinion is of her, it is this, she is perfekly + disgustin. That is all and no more at present from MELISSA SMITH. + </p> + <p> + The master mused for some time over this characteristic epistle. As he was + mechanically refolding it his eye caught a sentence written on the back in + pencil, in another handwriting, somewhat blurred and indistinct from the + heavy incisive strokes of M’liss’s pen on the other side. It seemed to be + a memorandum belonging to the book from which the leaf was originally + torn:— + </p> + <p> + July 17th. 5 hours in drift—dipping west—took out 20 oz.; + cleaned up 40 oz. Mem.—saw M. S. + </p> + <p> + “July 17th,” said the master, opening his desk and taking out a file of + the “Red Mountain Banner.” “July 17th,” he repeated, running over the + pages till he came to a paragraph headed “DISTRESSING SUICIDE.” “July 17th—why, + that’s the day Smith killed himself. That’s funny!” + </p> + <p> + In a strict etymological sense there was nothing so very ludicrous in this + coincidence, nor did the master’s face betray any expression of the kind. + Perhaps the epithet was chosen to conceal the vague uneasiness which it + produced in his mind. We are all of us more affected by these coincidences + than we care to confess to one another. If the most matter-of-fact reader + of these pages were to find a hearse standing in front of his door for + three consecutive mornings, although the circumstance might be + satisfactorily explained,—shall I go further and say, <i>because</i> + the circumstance might be satisfactorily explained,—he would vaguely + wish it hadn’t happened. Philosophize as we may, the simple fact of two + remote lines crossing each other always seems to us of tremendous + significance, and quite overshadows the more important truth that the real + parallels of life’s journey are the lines that never meet. It will do us + good to remember these things, and look more kindly on our brothers of + Borrioboola-Gha and their fetich superstitions, when we drop our silver in + the missionary box next Sabbath. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder where that memorandum came from,” said the master, as he rose at + last and buttoned up his coat. “Who is ‘M. S.’? M. S. stands for + manuscript and Melissa Smith. Why don’t”—But checking an impulsive + query as to why people don’t make their private memoranda generally + intelligible, the master put the letter in his pocket and went home. + </p> + <p> + At sunrise the next morning he was picking his way through the palm-like + fern and thick underbrush of the pine forest, starting the hare from its + form, and awakening a querulous protest from a few dissipated crows, who + had evidently been making a night of it, and so came to the wooded ridge + where he had once found M’liss. There he found the prostrate pine and + tessellated branches, but the throne was vacant. As he drew nearer, what + might have been some frightened animal started through the crackling + limbs. It ran up the tossed arms of the fallen monarch, and sheltered + itself in some friendly foliage. The master, reaching the old seat, found + the nest still warm; looking up in the intertwining branches, he met the + black eyes of the errant M’liss. They gazed at each other without + speaking. She was first to break the silence. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” she asked curtly. + </p> + <p> + The master had decided on a course of action. “I want some crab apples,” + he said humbly. + </p> + <p> + “Shan’t have ’em! go away! Why don’t you get ’em of Clytemnerestera?” It + seemed to be a relief to M’liss to express her contempt in additional + syllables to that classical young woman’s already long-drawn title. “Oh, + you wicked thing!” + </p> + <p> + “I am hungry, Lissy. I have eaten nothing since dinner yesterday. I am + famished!” and the young man, in a state of remarkable exhaustion, leaned + against the tree. + </p> + <p> + Melissa’s heart was touched. In the bitter days of her gypsy life she had + known the sensation he so artfully simulated. Overcome by his heartbroken + tone, but not entirely divested of suspicion, she said:— + </p> + <p> + “Dig under the tree near the roots, and you’ll find lots: but mind you + don’t tell,” for M’liss had <i>her</i> hoards as well as the rats and + squirrels. + </p> + <p> + But the master of course was unable to find them, the effects of hunger + probably blinding his senses. M’liss grew uneasy. At length she peered at + him through the leaves in an elfish way, and questioned:— + </p> + <p> + “If I come down and give you some, you’ll promise you won’t touch me?” + </p> + <p> + The master promised. + </p> + <p> + “Hope you’ll die if you do?” + </p> + <p> + The master accepted instant dissolution as a forfeit. M’liss slid down the + tree. The duties of hospitality fulfilled, she seated herself at a little + distance and eyed the master with extreme caution. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn’t you eat your breakfast, you bad man?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I’ve run away.” + </p> + <p> + “Where to?” said M’liss, her eyes twinkling. + </p> + <p> + “Anywhere—anywhere, away from here!” responded that deceitful wretch + with tragic wildness of demeanor. + </p> + <p> + “What made you?—bad boy!” said M’liss, with a sudden respect of + conventionalities, and a rare touch of tenderness in her tones. “You’d + better go back where your vittals are.” + </p> + <p> + “What are victuals to a wounded spirit?” asked the young man dramatically. + He had reached the side of M’liss during this dialogue, and had taken her + unresisting hand. He was too wise to notice his victory, however; and + drawing Melissa’s note from his pocket, opened it before her. + </p> + <p> + “Couldn’t you find any paper in the schoolhouse without tearing a leaf out + of my memorandum book, Melissa?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “It ain’t out of your memorandum book,” responded M’liss fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” said the master, turning to the lines in pencil; “I thought it + was my handwriting.” + </p> + <p> + M’liss, who had been looking over his shoulder, suddenly seized the paper + and snatched it out of his hand. + </p> + <p> + “It’s father’s writing!” she said, after a pause, in a softer tone. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you get it, M’liss?” + </p> + <p> + “Aristides gave it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did he get it?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t know. He had the book in his pocket when I told him I was going to + write to you, and he tore the leaf out. There now—don’t bother me + any more.” M’liss had turned her face away, and the black hair had hid her + downcast eyes. + </p> + <p> + Something in her gesture and expression reminded him of her father. + Something, and more that was characteristic to her at such moments, made + him fancy another resemblance, and caused him to ask impulsively, and less + cautiously than was his wont:— + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember your mother, M’liss?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you never see her?” + </p> + <p> + “No—didn’t I tell you not to bother, and you’re a-goin’ and doin’ + it,” said M’liss savagely. + </p> + <p> + The master was silent a moment. “Did you ever think you would like to have + a mother, M’liss?” he asked again. + </p> + <p> + “No-o-o-o!” + </p> + <p> + The master rose; M’liss looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Does Aristides come to school to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going back? You’d better,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Well!—perhaps I may. Good-by!” + </p> + <p> + He had proceeded a few steps when, as he expected, she called him back. He + turned. She was standing by the tree, with tears glistening in her eyes. + The master felt the right moment had come. Going up to her, he took both + her hands in his, and looking in her tearful eyes, said gravely:— + </p> + <p> + “M’liss, do you remember the first evening you came to see me?” + </p> + <p> + M’liss remembered. + </p> + <p> + “You asked me if you might come to school, and I said—” + </p> + <p> + “Come!” responded the child softly. + </p> + <p> + “If I told you I was lonely without my little scholar, and that I wanted + her to come, what would you say?” + </p> + <p> + The child hung her head in silence. The master waited patiently. Tempted + by the quiet, a hare ran close to the couple, and raising her bright eyes + and velvet fore paws, gazed at them fearlessly. A squirrel ran halfway + down the furrowed bark of the fallen tree, and there stopped. + </p> + <p> + “<i>We</i> are waiting, Lissy,” said the master in a whisper, and the + child smiled. Stirred by a passing breeze, the treetops rocked, and a + slanting sunbeam stole through their interlaced boughs and fell on the + doubting face and irresolute little figure. But a step in the dry branches + and a rustling in the underbrush broke the spell. + </p> + <p> + A man dressed as a miner, carrying a long-handled shovel, came slowly + through the woods. A red handkerchief tied around his head under his hat, + with the loose ends hanging from beneath, did not add much favor to his + unprepossessing face. He did not perceive the master and M’liss until he + was close upon them. When he did, he stopped suddenly and gazed at them + with an expression of lowering distrust. M’liss drew nearer to the master. + </p> + <p> + “Good-mornin’—picknickin’, eh?” he asked, with an attempt at + geniality that was more repulsive than his natural manner. + </p> + <p> + “How are you—prospecting, eh?” said the master quietly, after the + established colloquial formula of Red Mountain. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—a little in that way.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger still hesitated, apparently waiting for them to go first, a + matter which M’liss decided by suddenly taking the master’s hand in her + quick way. What she said was scarcely audible, but the master, parting her + hair over her forehead, kissed her, and so, hand in hand, they passed out + of the damp aisles and forest odors into the open sunlit road. But M’liss, + looking back, saw that her old seat was occupied by the hopeful + prospector, and fancied that in the shadows of her former throne something + of a gratified leer overspread his face. “He’ll have to dig deep to find + the crab apples,” said the child to the master, as they came to the Red + Mountain road. + </p> + <p> + When Aristides came to school that day he was confronted by M’liss. But + neither threats nor entreaties could extract from that reticent youth the + whereabout of the memorandum book nor where he got it. Two or three days + afterward, during recess, he approached M’liss, and beckoned her one side. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said M’liss impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever read the story of ‘Ali Baba’?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe it?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said that sage infant, wheeling around on his stout legs, “<i>it’s + true!</i>” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0080"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER IV + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + WHICH HAS A GOOD MORAL TENDENCY + </div> + <p> + Somewhat less spiteful in her intercourse with the other scholars, M’liss + still retained an offensive attitude toward Clytemnestra. Perhaps the + jealous element was not entirely stilled in her passionate little breast. + Perhaps it was that Clytemnestra’s round curves and plump outlines + afforded an extensive pinching surface. But while these ebullitions were + under the master’s control, her enmity occasionally took a new and + irresponsible form. + </p> + <p> + In his first estimate of the child’s character he could not conceive that + she had ever possessed a doll. But the master, like many other professed + readers of character, was safer in <i>a posteriori</i> than <i>a priori</i> + reasoning, for M’liss had a doll. But then it was a peculiar doll,—a + frightful perversion of wax and sawdust,—a doll fearfully and + wonderfully made,—a smaller edition of M’liss. Its unhappy existence + had been a secret discovered accidentally by Mrs. Morpher. It had been the + oldtime companion of M’liss’s wanderings, and bore evident marks of + suffering. Its original complexion was long since washed away by the + weather, and anointed by the slime of ditches. It looked very much as + M’liss had in days past. Its one gown of faded stuff was dirty and ragged + as hers had been. M’liss had never been known to apply to it any childish + term of endearment. She never exhibited it in the presence of other + children. It was put severely to bed in a hollow tree near the + schoolhouse, and only allowed exercise during M’liss’s rambles. Fulfilling + a stern duty to her doll—as she would to herself—it knew no + luxuries. + </p> + <p> + Now, Mrs. Morpher, obeying a commendable impulse, bought another doll and + gave it to M’liss. The child received it gravely and curiously. The + master, on looking at it one day, fancied he saw a slight resemblance in + its round red cheeks and mild blue eyes to Clytemnestra. It became evident + before long that M’liss had also noticed the same resemblance. Accordingly + she hammered its waxen head on the rocks when she was alone, and sometimes + dragged it with a string round its neck to and from school. At other + times, setting it up on her desk, she made a pincushion of its patient and + inoffensive body. Whether this was done in revenge of what she considered + a second figurative obtrusion of Clytie’s excellencies upon her; or + whether she had an intuitive appreciation of the rites of certain other + heathens, and indulging in that “fetich” ceremony imagined that the + original of her wax model would pine away and finally die, is a + metaphysical question I shall not now consider. + </p> + <p> + In spite of these moral vagaries, the master could not help noticing in + her different tasks the workings of a quick, restless, and vigorous + perception. She knew neither the hesitancy nor the doubts of childhood. + Her answers in class were always slightly dashed with audacity. Of course + she was not infallible. But her courage and daring in venturing beyond her + own depth and that of the floundering little swimmers around her, in their + minds outweighed all errors of judgment. Children are no better than grown + people in this respect, I fancy; and whenever the little red hand flashed + above her desk, there was a wondering silence, and even the master was + sometimes oppressed with a doubt of his own experience and judgment. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, certain attributes which at first amused and entertained his + fancy began to affect him with grave doubts. He could not but see that + M’liss was revengeful, irreverent, and willful. But there was one better + quality which pertained to her semi-savage disposition—the faculty + of physical fortitude and self-sacrifice, and another—though not + always an attribute of the noble savage—truth. M’liss was both + fearless and sincere—perhaps in such a character the adjectives were + synonymous. + </p> + <p> + The master had been doing some hard thinking on this subject, and had + arrived at that conclusion quite common to all who think sincerely, that + he was generally the slave of his own prejudices, when he determined to + call on the Rev. Mr. McSnagley for advice. This decision was somewhat + humiliating to his pride, as he and McSnagley were not friends. But he + thought of M’liss, and the evening of their first meeting; and perhaps + with a pardonable superstition that it was not chance alone that had + guided her willful feet to the schoolhouse, and perhaps with a complacent + consciousness of the rare magnanimity of the act, he choked back his + dislike and went to McSnagley. + </p> + <p> + The reverend gentleman was glad to see him. Moreover, he observed that the + master was looking “peartish” and hoped he had got over the “neuralgy” and + “rheumatiz.” He himself had been troubled with a dumb “ager” since last + conference. But he had learned to “rastle and pray.” + </p> + <p> + Pausing a moment to enable the master to write this certain method of + curing the dumb “ager” upon the book and volume of his brain, Mr. + McSnagley proceeded to inquire after Sister Morpher. “She is an adornment + to Chris<i>tew</i>anity, and has a likely, growin’ young family,” added + Mr. McSnagley; “and there is that mannerly young gal—so well behaved—Miss + Clytie.” In fact, Clytie’s perfections seemed to affect him to such an + extent that he dwelt for several minutes upon them. The master was doubly + embarrassed. In the first place, there was an enforced contrast with poor + M’liss in all this praise of Clytie. Secondly, there was something + unpleasantly confidential in his tone of speaking of Morpher’s earliest + born. So that the master, after a few futile efforts to say something + natural, found it convenient to recall another engagement and left without + asking the information required, but in his after reflections somewhat + unjustly giving the Rev. Mr. McSnagley the full benefit of having refused + it. + </p> + <p> + But the master obtained the advice in another and unexpected direction. + </p> + <p> + The resident physician of Smith’s Pocket was a Dr. Duchesne, or as he was + better known to the locality, “Dr. Doochesny.” Of a naturally refined + nature and liberal education, he had steadily resisted the aggressions and + temptations of Smith’s Pocket, and represented to the master a kind of + connecting link between his present life and the past. So that an intimacy + sprang up between the two men, involving prolonged interviews in the + doctor’s little back shop, often to the exclusion of other suffering + humanity and their physical ailments. It was in one of these interviews + that the master mentioned the coincidence of the date of the memoranda on + the back of M’liss’s letter and the day of Smith’s suicide. + </p> + <p> + “If it were Smith’s own handwriting, as the child says it is,” said the + master, “it shows a queer state of mind that could contemplate suicide and + indite private memoranda within the same twenty-four hours.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Duchesne removed his cigar from his lips and looked attentively at his + friend. + </p> + <p> + “The only hypothesis,” continued the master, “is that Smith was either + drunk or crazy, and the fatal act was in a measure unpremeditated.” + </p> + <p> + “Every man who commits suicide,” returned the doctor gravely, “is in my + opinion insane, or, what is nearly the same thing, becomes through + suffering an irresponsible agent. In my professional experience I have + seen most of the forms of mental and physical agony, and know what + sacrifices men will make to preserve even an existence that to me seemed + little better than death, so long as their intellect remained unclouded. + When you come to reflect on the state of mind that chooses death as a + preferable alternative, you generally find an exaltation and enthusiasm + that differs very little from the ordinary diagnosis of delirium. Smith + was not drunk,” added the doctor in his usual careless tone; “I saw his + body.” + </p> + <p> + The master remained buried in reflection. Presently the doctor removed his + cigar. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I might help you to explain the coincidence you speak of.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “Very easily. But this is a professional secret, you understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I understand,” said the master hastily, with an ill-defined + uneasiness creeping over him. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know anything of the phenomena of death by gunshot wounds?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you must take certain facts as granted. Smith, you remember, was + killed <i>instantly!</i> The nature of his wound and the manner of his + death were such as would have caused an instantaneous and complete + relaxation of <i>all</i> the muscles. Rigidity and contraction would have + supervened of course, but only after life was extinct and consciousness + fled. Now Smith was found with his hand tightly grasping a pistol.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear boy, he must have grasped it after he was dead, or have + prevailed on some friend to stiffen his fingers round it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that he was murdered?” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Duchesne rose and closed the door. “We have different names for these + things in Smith’s Pocket. I mean to say that he didn’t kill himself—that’s + all.” + </p> + <p> + “But, doctor,” said the master earnestly; “do you think you have done + right in concealing this fact? Do you think it just—do you think it + consistent with your duty to his orphan child?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s why I have said nothing about it,” replied the doctor coolly,—“because + of my consideration for his orphan child.” + </p> + <p> + The master breathed quickly, and stared at the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Doctor! you don’t think that M’liss”— + </p> + <p> + “Hush!—don’t get excited, my young friend. Remember I am not a + lawyer—only a doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “But M’liss was with me the very night he must have been killed. We were + walking together when we heard the report—that is—a report—which + must have been the one”—stammered the master. + </p> + <p> + “When was that?” + </p> + <p> + “At half past eleven. I remember looking at my watch.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!—when did you meet her first?” + </p> + <p> + “At half past eight. Come, doctor, you have made a mistake here at least,” + said the young man with an assumption of ease he was far from feeling. + “Give M’liss the benefit of the doubt.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Duchesne replied by opening a drawer of his desk. After rummaging + among the powders and mysterious looking instruments with which it was + stored, he finally brought forth a longitudinal slip of folded white + paper. It was appropriately labeled “<i>Poison.</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” said the doctor, opening the paper. It contained two or three + black coarse hairs. “Do you know them?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Look again!” + </p> + <p> + “It looks something like Melissa’s hair,” said the master, with a + fathomless sinking of the heart. + </p> + <p> + “When I was called to look at the body,” continued the doctor with the + deliberate cautiousness of a professional diagnosis, “my suspicions were + aroused by the circumstance I told you of. I managed to get possession of + the pistol, and found these hairs twisted around the lock as though they + had been accidentally caught and violently disentangled. I don’t think + that any one else saw them. I removed them without observation, and—they + are at your service.” + </p> + <p> + The master sank back in his seat and pressed his hand to his forehead. The + image of M’liss rose before him with flashing eye and long black hair, and + seemed to beat down and resist defiantly the suspicion that crept slowly + over his heart. + </p> + <p> + “I forbore to tell you this, my friend,” continued the doctor slowly and + gravely, “because when I learned that you had taken this strange child + under your protection I did not wish to tell you that which—though I + contend does not alter her claims to man’s sympathy and kindness—still + might have prejudiced her in your eyes. Her improvement under your care + has proven my position correct. I have, as you know, peculiar ideas of the + extent to which humanity is responsible. I find in my heart—looking + back over that child’s career—no sentiment but pity. I am mistaken + in you if I thought this circumstance aroused any other feeling in yours.” + </p> + <p> + Still the figure of M’liss stood before the master as he bent before the + doctor’s words, in the same defiant attitude, with something of scorn in + the great dark eyes, that made the blood tingle in his cheeks, and seemed + to make the reasoning of the speaker but meaningless and empty words. At + length he rose. As he stood with his hand on the latch he turned to Dr. + Duchesne, who was watching him with careful solicitude. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know but that you have done well to keep this from me. At all + events it has not—cannot, and should not alter my opinion toward + M’liss. You will of course keep it a secret. In the mean time you must not + blame me if I cling to my instincts in preference to your judgment. I + still believe that you are mistaken in regard to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay, one moment,” said the doctor; “promise me you will not say anything + of this, nor attempt to prosecute the matter further till you have + consulted with me.” + </p> + <p> + “I promise. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night;” and so they parted. + </p> + <p> + True to that promise and his own instinctive promptings the master + endeavored to atone for his momentary disloyalty by greater solicitude for + M’liss. But the child had noticed some change in the master’s thoughtful + manner, and in one of their long post-prandial walks she stopped suddenly, + and mounting a stump, looked full in his face with big searching eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You ain’t mad?” said she, with an interrogative shake of the black + braids. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor bothered?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor hungry?” (Hunger was to M’liss a sickness that might attack a person + at any moment.) + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor thinking of her?” + </p> + <p> + “Of whom, Lissy?” + </p> + <p> + “That white girl.” (This was the latest epithet invented by M’liss, who + was a very dark brunette, to express Clytemnestra.) + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Upon your word?” (A substitute for “Hope you’ll die!” proposed by the + master.) + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And sacred honor?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Then M’liss gave him a fierce little kiss, and hopping down, fluttered + off. For two or three days after that she condescended to appear like + other children and be, as she expressed it, “good.” + </p> + <p> + When the summer was about spent, and the last harvest had been gathered in + the valleys, the master bethought him of gathering in a few ripened shoots + of the young idea, and of having his Harvest Home, or Examination. So the + savans and professionals of Smith’s Pocket were gathered to witness that + time-honored custom of placing timid children in a constrained position, + and bullying them as in a witness-box. As usual in such cases, the most + audacious and self-possessed were the lucky recipients of the honors. The + reader will imagine that in the present instance M’liss and Clytie were + preeminent and divided public attention: M’liss with her clearness of + material perception and self-reliance, and Clytie with her placid + self-esteem and saintlike correctness of deportment. The other little ones + were timid and blundering. M’liss’s readiness and brilliancy, of course, + captivated the greatest number, and provoked the greatest applause, and + M’liss’s antecedents had unconsciously awakened the strongest sympathies + of the miners, whose athletic forms were ranged against the walls, or + whose handsome bearded faces looked in at the window. But M’liss’s + popularity was overthrown by an unexpected circumstance. + </p> + <p> + McSnagley had invited himself, and had been going through the pleasing + entertainment of frightening the more timid pupils by the vaguest and most + ambiguous questions, delivered in an impressive, funereal tone; and M’liss + had soared into astronomy, and was tracking the course of our “spotted + ball” through space, and defining the “tethered orbits” of the planets, + when McSnagley deliberately arose. + </p> + <p> + “Meelissy, ye were speaking of the revolutions of this yer yearth, and its + movements with regard to the sun, and I think you said it had been a-doin’ + of it since the creation, eh?” + </p> + <p> + M’liss nodded a scornful affirmative. + </p> + <p> + “Well, was that the truth?” said McSnagley, folding his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said M’liss, shutting up her little red lips tightly. + </p> + <p> + The handsome outlines at the windows peered further into the schoolroom, + and a saintly, Raphael-like face, with blond beard and soft blue eyes, + belonging to the biggest scamp in the diggings, turned toward the child + and whispered:— + </p> + <p> + “Stick to it, M’liss! It’s only a big bluff of the parson.” + </p> + <p> + The reverend gentleman heaved a deep sigh, and cast a compassionate glance + at the master, then at the children, and then rested his eye on + Clytemnestra. That young woman softly elevated her round, white arm. Its + seductive curves were enhanced by a gorgeous and massive specimen + bracelet, the gift of one of her humblest worshipers, worn in honor of the + occasion. There was a momentary pause. Clytie’s round cheeks were very + pink and soft. Clytie’s big eyes were very bright and blue. Clytie’s + low-necked white book-muslin rested softly on Clytie’s white, plump + shoulders. Clytie looked at the master, and the master nodded. Then Clytie + spoke softly: + </p> + <p> + “Joshua commanded the sun to stand still, and it obeyed him.” + </p> + <p> + There was a low hum of applause in the schoolroom, a triumphant expression + on McSnagley’s face, a grave shadow on the master’s, and a comical look of + disappointment reflected from the windows. M’liss skimmed rapidly over her + astronomy, and then shut the book with a loud snap. A groan burst from + McSnagley, an expression of astonishment from the schoolroom, and a yell + from the windows, as M’liss brought her red fist down on the desk, with + the emphatic declaration:— + </p> + <p> + “It’s a d—n lie. I don’t believe it!” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0081"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER V + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + “OPEN SESAME” + </div> + <p> + The long wet season had drawn near its close. Signs of spring were visible + in the swelling buds and rushing torrents. The pine forests exhaled a + fresher spicery. The azaleas were already budding; the ceanothus getting + ready its lilac livery for spring. On the green upland which climbed the + Red Mountain at its southern aspect, the long spike of the monk’s-hood + shot up from its broad-leaved stool and once more shook its dark blue + bells. Again the billow above Smith’s grave was soft and green, its crest + just tossed with the foam of daisies and buttercups. The little graveyard + had gathered a few new dwellers in the past year, and the mounds were + placed two by two by the little paling until they reached Smith’s grave, + and there, there was but one. General superstition had shunned the + enforced companionship. The plot beside Smith was vacant. + </p> + <p> + It was the custom of the driver of the great Wingdam stage to whip up his + horses at the foot of the hill, and soenter Smith’s Pocket at that + remarkable pace which the woodcuts in the hotel bar-room represented to + credulous humanity as the usual rate of speed of that conveyance. At + least, Aristides Morpher thought so as he stood one Sunday afternoon, + uneasily conscious of his best jacket and collar, waiting its approach. + Nor could anything shake his belief that regularly on that occasion the + horses ran away with the driver, and that that individual from motives of + deep policy pretended not to notice it until they were stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Anybody up from below, Bill?” said the landlord as the driver slowly + descended from his perch. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody for you,” responded Bill shortly. “Dusenberry kem up as usual, and + got off at the old place. You can’t make a livin’ off him, I reckon.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you found out what his name is yet?” continued the landlord, + implying that “Dusenberry” was simply a playful epithet of the driver. + </p> + <p> + “He says his name is Waters,” returned Bill. “Jake said he saw him at the + North Fork in ’50—called himself Moore then. Guess he ain’t no good, + nowhow. What’s he doin’ round here?” + </p> + <p> + “Says he’s prospectin’,” replied the landlord. “He has a claim somewhere + in the woods. Gambles a little too, I reckon. He don’t travel on his + beauty anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “If you had seen him makin’ up to a piece of calico inside, last trip, and + she a-makin’ up to him quite confidential-like, I guess you’d think he was + a lady-killer. My eye, but wasn’t she a stunner! Clytie Morpher wasn’t + nowhere to begin with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was she, Bill?” asked half a dozen masculine voices. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t know. We picked her up this side of ‘Coyote.’ Fancy? I tell you!—pretty + little hat and pink ribbings—eyes that ud bore you through at a + hundred yards—white teeth—brown gaiters, and such an ankle! + She didn’t want to show it,—oh, no!” added the sarcastic Bill with + deep significance. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you leave her, Bill?” asked a gentle village swain who had been + fired by the glowing picture of the fair unknown. + </p> + <p> + “That’s what’s the matter. You see after we picked her up, she said she + was goin’ through to Wingdam. Of course there wasn’t anything in the stage + or on the road too good to offer her. Old Major Spaffler wanted to treat + her to lemonade at every station. Judge Plunkett kep’ a-pullin’ down the + blinds and a-h’istin’ of them up to keep out the sun and let in the air. + Blest if old McSnagley didn’t want to carry her travelin’-bag. There + wasn’t any attention, boys, she didn’t get—but it wasn’t no use—bless + you! She never so much as passed the time of day with them.” + </p> + <p> + “But where did she go?” inquired another anxious auditor. + </p> + <p> + “Keep your foot off the drag, and I’ll tell you. Arter we left Ring Tail + Canon, Dusenberry, as usual, got on. Presently one of the outsides turned + round to me, and says he, ‘D—d if Ugly Mug ain’t got the inside + track of all of you this time!’ I looked down, and dern my skin if there + wasn’t Dusenberry a-sittin’ up alongside of the lady, quite comfortable, + as if they had ben children together. At the next station Dusenberry gets + off. So does the lady. ‘Ain’t you goin’ on to Wingdam,’ says I. ‘No,’ says + she. ‘Mayn’t we have the pleasure of your kempany further?’ says the + judge, taking off his hat. ‘No, I’ve changed my mind,’ says she, and off + she got, and off she walked arm in arm with him as cool as you please.” + </p> + <p> + “Wonder if that wa’n’t the party that passed through here last July?” + asked the blacksmith, joining the loungers in front of the stage-office. + “Waters brought up a buggy to get the axle bolted. There was a woman + setting in the buggy, but the hood was drawn down, and I didn’t get to see + her face.” During this conversation Aristides, after a long, lingering + glance at the stage, had at last torn himself away from its fascinations, + and was now lounging down the long straggling street in a peculiarly + dissipated manner, with his hat pushed on the back part of his head, his + right hand and a greater portion of his right arm buried in his trousers + pocket. This might have been partly owing to the shortness of his legs and + the comparative amplitude of his trousers, which to the casual observer + seemed to obviate the necessity of any other garment. But when he reached + the bottom of the street, and further enlivened his progress by whistling + shrilly between his fingers, and finally drew a fragment of a cigar from + his pocket and placed it between his teeth, it was evident that there was + a moral as well as physical laxity in his conduct. The near fact was that + Aristides had that afternoon evaded the Sunday-school, and was open to any + kind of infant iniquity. + </p> + <p> + The main street of Smith’s Pocket gradually lost its civilized character, + and after one or two futile attempts at improvement at its lower + extremity, terminated impotently in a chaos of ditches, races, and + trailings. Out of this again a narrow trail started along the mountain + side, and communicated with that vast amphitheatre which still exhibited + the pioneer efforts of the early settlers. It was this trail that + Aristides took that Sunday afternoon, and which he followed until he + reached the hillside a few rods below the yawning fissure of Smith’s + Pocket. After a careful examination of the vicinity, he cleared away the + underbrush beside a fallen pine that lay near, and sat down in the + attitude of patient and deliberate expectancy. + </p> + <p> + Five minutes passed—ten, twenty—and finally a half-hour was + gone. Aristides threw away his cigar, which he had lacked determination to + light, and peeled small slips from the inner bark of the pine-tree, and + munched them gravely. Another five, ten, and twenty minutes passed, and + the sun began to drop below the opposite hillside. Another ten minutes, + and the whole of the amphitheatre above was in heavy shadow. Ten minutes + more, and the distant windows in the settlement flamed redly. Five + minutes, and the spire of the Methodist church caught the glow—and + then the underbrush crackled. + </p> + <p> + Aristides, looking up, saw the trunk of the prostrate pine slowly lifting + itself before him. + </p> + <p> + A second glance showed the fearless and self-possessed boy that the + apparent phenomenon was simply and easily explained. The tree had fallen + midway and at right angles across the trunk of another prostrate monarch. + So accurately and evenly was it balanced that the child was satisfied, + from a liberal experience of the application of these principles to the + game of “seesaw,” that a very slight impulse to either end was sufficient + to destroy the equilibrium. That impulse proceeded from his end of the + tree, as he saw when the uplifted trunk disclosed an opening in the ground + beneath it, and the head and shoulders of a man emerging therefrom. + </p> + <p> + Aristides threw himself noiselessly on his stomach. The thick clump of an + azalea hid him from view, though it did not obstruct his survey of the + stranger, whom he at once recognized as his former enemy,—the man + with the red handkerchief,—the hopeful prospector of Red Mountain, + and the hypothetical “Dusenberry” of the stage-driver. + </p> + <p> + The stranger looked cautiously round, and Aristides shrank close behind + the friendly azalea. + </p> + <p> + Satisfied that he was unobserved, the subterranean proprietor returned to + the opening and descended, reappearing with a worn black enameled + traveling-bag which he carried with difficulty. This he again enveloped in + a blanket and strapped tightly on his back, and a long-handled shovel, + brought up from the same mysterious storehouse, completed his outfit. As + he stood for a moment leaning on the shovel, it was the figure of the + hopeful prospector in the heart of the forest. A very slight effort was + sufficient to replace the fallen tree in its former position. Raising the + shovel to his shoulder, he moved away, brushing against the azalea bush + which hid the breathless Aristides. The sound of his footsteps retreating + through the crackling brush presently died out, and a drowsy Sabbath + stillness succeeded. + </p> + <p> + Aristides rose. There was a wonderful brightness in his gray eyes, and a + flush on his sunburned cheek. Seizing a root of the fallen pine he essayed + to move it. But it defied his endeavors. Aristides looked round. + </p> + <p> + “There’s some trick about it, but I’ll find it yet,” said that astute + child. Breaking off the limb of a buckeye, he extemporized a lever. The + first attempt failed. The second succeeded, and the long roots of the tree + again, ascended. But as it required prolonged effort to keep the tree up, + before the impetus was lost Aristides seized the opportunity to jump into + the opening. At the same moment the tree slowly returned to its former + position. + </p> + <p> + In the sudden change from the waning light to complete darkness, Aristides + was for a moment confounded. Recovering himself, he drew a match from his + capacious pocket, and striking it against the sole of his shoe, by the + upspringing flash perceived a candle stuck in the crevices of the rock + beside him. Lighting it, he glanced curiously around him. He was at the + entrance of a long gallery at the further extremity of which he could + faintly see the glimmering of the outer daylight. Following this gallery + cautiously he presently came to an antechamber, and by the glimmering of + the light above him at once saw that it was the same he had seen in his + wonderful dream. + </p> + <p> + The antechamber was about fourteen feet square, with walls of decomposed + quartz, mingling with flaky mica that reflected here and there the gleam + of Aristides’s candle with a singular brilliancy. It did not need much + observation on his part to determine the reason of the stranger’s lonely + labors. On a rough rocker beside him were two fragments of ore taken from + the adjacent wall, the smallest of which the two arms of Aristides could + barely clasp. To his dazzled eyes they seemed to be almost entirely of + pure gold. The great strike of ’56 at Ring Tail Canon had brought to the + wonderful vision of Smith’s Pocket no such nuggets as were here. + </p> + <p> + Aristides turned to the wall again, which had been apparently the last + scene of the stranger’s labors, and from which the two masses of ore were + taken. Even to his inexperienced eye it represented a wealth almost + incalculable. Through the loose, red soil everywhere glittering star + points of the precious metal threw back the rays of his candle. Aristides + turned pale and trembled. + </p> + <p> + Here was the realization of his most extravagant fancy. Ever since his + strange dream and encounter with the stranger, he had felt an irresistible + desire to follow up his adventure, and discover the secrets of the second + cavern. But when he had returned to Smith’s Pocket, a few days after, the + wreck of the fallen roof had blocked up that part of the opening from + which he had caught sight of the hidden workman below. During his visit he + had picked up from among the rubbish the memorandum book which had + supplied M’liss with letter paper. Still haunting the locality after + school hours, he had noticed that regularly at sunset the man with the red + handkerchief appeared in some mysterious way from the hillside below + Smith’s Pocket, and went away in the direction of the settlement. By + careful watching, Aristides had fixed the location of his mysterious + appearance to a point a few rods below the opening of Smith’s Pocket. + Flushed by this discovery, he had been betrayed from his usual discretion + so far as to intimate a hinting of the suspicion that possessed him in the + few mysterious words he had whispered to M’liss at school. The accident we + have described above determined the complete discovery of the secret. + </p> + <p> + Who was the stranger, and why did he keep the fact of this immense wealth + hidden from the world? Suppose he, Aristides, were to tell? Wouldn’t the + schoolboys look up at him with interest as the hero and discoverer of this + wonderful cavern, and wouldn’t the stage-driver feel proud of his + acquaintance and offer him rides for nothing? + </p> + <p> + Why hadn’t Smith discovered it—who was poor and wanted money, whom + Aristides had liked, who was the father of M’liss, for whom Aristides + confessed a secret passion, who belonged to the settlement and helped to + build it up—instead of the stranger? Had Smith never a suspicion + that gold was so near him, and if so, why had he killed himself? But did + Smith kill himself? And at this thought and its correlative fancy, again + the cheek of Aristides blanched, and the candle shook in his nerveless + fingers. + </p> + <p> + Apart and distinct from these passing conjectures one idea remained firm + and dominant in his mind: the man with the red handkerchief had no right + to this treasure! The mysterious instinct which directed this judicial + ruling of Aristides had settled this fact as indubitably as though proven + by the weight of the strongest testimony. For an instant a wild thought + sprang up in his heart, and he seized the nearest mass of ore with the + half-formed intention of bearing it directly to the feet of M’liss as her + just and due inheritance. But Aristides could not lift it, and the idea + passed out of his mind with the frustrated action. + </p> + <p> + At the further end of the gallery a few blankets were lying, and with some + mining implements, a kettle of water, a few worn flannel shirts, were the + only articles which this subterranean habitation possessed. In turning + over one of the blankets Aristides picked up a woman’s comb. It was a + tortoise-shell, and bright with some fanciful ornamentation. Without a + moment’s hesitation Aristides pocketed it as the natural property of + M’liss. A pocketbook containing a few old letters in the breast pocket of + one of the blue shirts was transferred to that of Aristides with the same + coolness and sentiment of instinctive justice. + </p> + <p> + Aristides wisely reflected that these unimportant articles would excite no + suspicion if found in his possession. A fragment of the rock, which, if he + had taken it as he felt impelled, would have precipitated the discovery + that Aristides had decided to put off until he had perfected a certain + plan. The light from the opening above had gradually faded, and Aristides + knew that night had fallen. To prevent suspicion he must return home. He + reentered the gallery and reached the opening of the egress. One of the + roots of the tree projected into the opening. + </p> + <p> + He seized it and endeavored to lift it, but in vain. Panting with + exertion, he again and again exerted the fullest power of his active + sinews, but the tree remained immovable—the opening remained sealed + as firmly as with Solomon’s signet. Raising his candle towards it, + Aristides saw the reason of its resistance. In his hurried ingress he had + allowed the tree to revolve sufficiently to permit one of its roots to + project into the opening, which held it firmly down. In the shock of the + discovery the excitement which had sustained him gave way, and with a + hopeless cry the just Aristides fell senseless on the floor of the + gallery. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0082"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER VI + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + THE TRIALS OF MRS. MORPHER + </div> + <p> + “Now, where on earth can that child be?” said Mrs. Morpher, shading her + eyes with her hand, as she stood at the door of the “Mountain Ranch,” + looking down the Wingdam road at sunset. “With his best things on; too. + Goodness!—what <i>were</i> boys made for?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Morpher, without replying to this question, apparently addressed to + himself as an adult representative of the wayward species, appeared at the + door, and endeavored to pour oil on the troubled waters. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, <i>he’s</i> all right, Sue! Don’t fuss about <i>him</i>,” said Mr. + Morpher with an imbecile sense of conveying comfort in the emphasized + pronoun. “He’s down the gulch, or in the tunnel, or over to the claim. + He’ll turn up by bedtime. Don’t you worry about <i>him.</i> I’ll look him + up in a minit,” and Mr. Morpher, taking his hat, sauntered down the road + in the direction of the National Hotel. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Morpher gazed doubtfully after her liege. “Looking up” Aristides, in + her domestic experience, implied a prolonged absence in the bar-room of + the hotel, the tedium whereof was beguiled by seven-up or euchre. But she + only said: “Don’t be long, James,” and sighed hopelessly as she turned + back into the house. + </p> + <p> + Once again within her own castle walls Mrs. Morpher dropped her look of + patient suffering and glanced defiantly around for a fresh grievance. + </p> + <p> + The decorous little parlor offered nothing to provoke the hostility of her + peculiar instincts. Spotless were the white curtains; the bright carpet + guiltless of stain or dust. The chairs were placed arithmetically in twos, + and added up evenly on the four sides with nothing to carry over. Two + bunches of lavender and fennel breathed an odor of sanctified cleanliness + through the room. Five daguerreotypes on the mantelpiece represented the + Morpher family in the progressive stages of petrifaction, and had the + Medusa-like effect of freezing visitors into similar attitudes in their + chairs. The walls were further enlivened with two colored engravings of + scenes in the domestic history of George Washington, in which the Father + of his Country seemed to look blandly from his own correct family circle + into Morpher’s, and to breathe quite audibly from his gilt frame a + dignified blessing. + </p> + <p> + Lingering a moment in this sacred inclosure to readjust the tablecloth, + Mrs. Morpher passed into the dining-room, where the correct Clytie + presided at the supper-table, at which the rest of the family were seated. + Mrs. Morpher’s quick eyes caught the spectacle of M’liss with her chin + resting on her hands, and her elbows on the table, sardonically surveying + the model of deportment opposite to her. + </p> + <p> + “M’liss!” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Where’s your elbows?” + </p> + <p> + “Here’s one and there’s the other,” said M’liss quietly, indicating their + respective localities by smartly tapping them with the palm of her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Take them off the table, instantly, you bold, forward girl—and you, + sir, quit that giggling and eat your supper, if you don’t want to be put + to bed without it!” added Mrs. Morpher to Lycurgus, to whom M’liss’s + answer had afforded boundless satisfaction. “You’re getting to be just as + bad as her, and mercy knows you never were a seraphim!” + </p> + <p> + “What’s a seraphim, mother, and what do they do?” asked Lycurgus, with + growing interest. + </p> + <p> + “They don’t ask questions when they should be eating their supper, and + thankful for it,” interposed Clytie, authoritatively, as one to whom the + genteel attributes and social habits of the seraphim had been a privileged + revelation. + </p> + <p> + “But, mother”— + </p> + <p> + “Hush—and don’t be a heathen—run and see who is coming in,” + said Mrs. Morpher, as the sound of footsteps was heard in the passage. + </p> + <p> + The door opened and McSnagley entered. + </p> + <p> + “Why, bless my soul—how do you do?” said Mrs. Morpher, with genteel + astonishment. “Quite a stranger, I declare.” + </p> + <p> + This was a polite fiction. M’liss knew the fact to be that Mrs. Morpher + was reputed to “set the best table” in Smith’s Pocket, and McSnagley + always called in on Sunday evenings at supper to discuss the current + gossip, and “nag” M’liss with selected texts. The verbal McSnagley as + usual couldn’t stop a moment—and just dropped in “in passin’.” The + actual McSnagley deposited his hat in the corner, and placed himself, in + the flesh, on a chair by the table. + </p> + <p> + “And how’s Brother James, and the fammerly?” + </p> + <p> + “They’re all well—except ‘Risty;’ he’s off again,—as if my + life weren’t already pestered out with one child,” and Mrs. Morpher + glanced significantly at M’liss. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well, we all of us have our trials,” said McSnagley. “I’ve been + ailin’ again. That ager must be in my bones still. I’ve been rather + onsettled myself to-day.” + </p> + <p> + There was the appearance of truth in this statement; Mr. McSnagley’s voice + had a hollow resonant sound, and his eyes were nervous and fidgety. He had + an odd trick, too, of occasionally stopping in the middle of a sentence, + and listening as though he heard some distant sound. These things, which + Mrs. Morpher recalled afterwards, did not, in the undercurrent of + uneasiness about Aristides which she felt the whole of that evening, so + particularly attract her notice. + </p> + <p> + “I know something,” said Lycurgus, during one of these pauses, from the + retirement of his corner. + </p> + <p> + “If you dare to—Kerg!” said M’liss. + </p> + <p> + “M’liss says she knows where Risty is, but she won’t tell,” said the + lawgiver, not heeding the warning. The words were scarcely uttered before + M’liss’s red hand flashed in the air and descended with a sounding box on + the traitor’s ear. Lycurgus howled, Mrs. Morpher darted into the corner, + and M’liss was dragged defiant and struggling to the light. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you wicked, wicked child—why don’t you say where, if you know?” + said Mrs. Morpher, shaking her, as if the information were to be dislodged + from some concealed part of her clothing. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t say I knew for sure,” at last responded M’liss. “I said I + thought I knew.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, where do you think he is?” + </p> + <p> + But M’liss was firm. Even the gloomy picture of the future state devised + by McSnagley could not alter her determination. Mrs. Morpher, who had a + wholesome awe for this strange child, at last had recourse to entreaty. + Finally M’liss offered a compromise. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell the master, but I won’t tell you—partikerly him,” said + M’liss, indicating the parson with a bodkin-like dart of her forefinger. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Morpher hesitated. Her maternal anxiety at length overcame her sense + of dignity and discipline. + </p> + <p> + “Who knows where the master is, or where he is to be found to-night?” she + asked hastily. + </p> + <p> + “He’s over to Dr. Duchesne’s,” said Clytie eagerly; “that is,” she + stammered, a rich color suddenly flushing from her temples to her round + shoulders, “he’s usually there in the evenings, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Run over, there’s a dear, and ask him to come here,” said Mrs. Morpher, + without noticing a sudden irregularity of conduct in her firstborn. “Run + quick!” + </p> + <p> + Clytie did not wait for a second command. Without availing herself of the + proffered company of McSnagley she hastily tied the strings of her school + hat under her plump chin, and slipped out of the house. It was not far to + the doctor’s office, and Clytie walked quickly, overlooking in her haste + and preoccupation the admiring glances which several of the swains of + Smith’s Pocket cast after her as she passed. But on arriving at the + doctor’s door, so out of breath and excited was this usual model of + deportment that, on finding herself in the presence of the master and his + friend, she only stood in embarrassed silence, and made up for her lack of + verbal expression by a succession of eloquent blushes. + </p> + <p> + Let us look at her for a moment as she stands there. Her little straw hat, + trimmed with cherry-colored ribbons, rests on the waves of her blonde + hair. There are other gay ribbons on her light summer dress, clasping her + round waist, girdling her wrist, and fastening her collar about her white + throat. Her large blue eyes are very dark and moist—it may be with + excitement or a tearful thought of the lost Aristides—or the tobacco + smoke, with which I regret to say the room is highly charged. But + certainly as she stands leaning against the doorway, biting her moist + scarlet lip, and trying to pull down the broad brim of her hat over the + surging waves of color that <i>will</i> beat rhythmically up to her cheeks + and temples, she is so dangerously pretty that I am glad for the masters + sake he is the philosopher he has just described himself to his friend the + doctor, and that he prefers to study human physiology from the inner + surfaces. + </p> + <p> + When Clytie had recovered herself sufficiently to state her message, the + master offered to accompany her back. As Clytie took his arm with some + slight trepidation Dr. Duchesne, who had taken sharp notes of these + “febrile” symptoms, uttered a prolonged whistle and returned thoughtfully + to his office. + </p> + <p> + Although Clytie found the distance returning no further than the distance + going, with the exhaustion of her first journey it was natural that her + homeward steps should be slower, and that the master should regulate his + pace to accommodate her. It was natural, too, that her voice should be + quite low and indistinct, so that the master was obliged to bring his hat + nearer the cherry-colored ribbons in the course of conversation. It was + also natural that he should offer the sensitive young girl such comfort as + lay in tenderly modulated tones and playful epithets. And if in the + irregularities of the main street it was necessary to take Clytie’s hand + or to put his arm around her waist in helping her up declivities, that the + master saw no impropriety in the act was evident from the fact that he did + not remove his arm when the difficulty was surmounted. In this way + Clytie’s return occupied some moments more than her going, and Mrs. + Morpher was waiting anxiously at the door when the young people arrived. + As the master entered the room, M’liss called him to her. “Bend down your + head” she said, “and I’ll whisper. But mind, now, I don’t say I know for + truth where Risty is, I only reckon.” + </p> + <p> + The master bent down his head. As usual in such cases, everybody else felt + constrained to listen, and McSnagley’s curiosity was awakened to its + fullest extent. When the master had received the required information, he + said quietly:— + </p> + <p> + “I think I’ll go myself to this place which M’liss wishes to make a secret + of and see if the boy is there. It will save trouble to any one else, if + she should be mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + “Hadn’t you better take some one with you?” said Mrs. Morpher. + </p> + <p> + “By all means. I’ll go!” said Mr. McSnagley, with feverish alacrity. + </p> + <p> + The master looked inquiringly at M’liss. + </p> + <p> + “He can go if he wants to, but he’d better not,” said M’liss, looking + directly into McSnagley’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by that, you little savage?” said McSnagley quickly. + </p> + <p> + M’liss turned scornfully away. “Go,” she said,—“go if you want to,” + and resumed her seat in the corner. + </p> + <p> + The master hesitated. But he could not withstand the appeal in the eyes of + the mother and daughter, and after a short inward struggle he turned to + McSnagley and bade him briefly “Come.” + </p> + <p> + When they had left the house and stood in the road together, McSnagley + stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you goin’?” + </p> + <p> + “To Smith’s Pocket.” + </p> + <p> + McSnagley still lingered. “Do you ever carry any weppings?” he at length + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Weapons? No. What do you want with weapons to go a mile on a starlit road + to a deserted claim. Nonsense, man, what are you thinking of? We’re + hunting a lost child, not a runaway felon. Come along,” and the master + dragged him away. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Morpher watched them from the door until their figures were lost in + the darkness. When she returned to the dining-room, Clytie had already + retired to her room, and Mrs. Morpher, overruling M’liss’s desire to sit + up until the master returned, bade her follow that correct example. + “There’s Clytie, now, gone to bed like a young lady, and do you do like + her,” and Mrs. Morpher, with this one drop of balm in the midst of her + trials, trimmed the light and sat down in patience to wait for Aristides, + and console herself with the reflection of Clytie’s excellence. “Poor + Clytie!” mused that motherly woman; “how excited and worried she looks + about her brother. I hope she’ll be able to get to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + It did not occur to Mrs. Morpher that there were seasons in the life of + young girls when younger brothers ceased to become objects of extreme + solicitude. It did not occur to her to go upstairs and see how her wish + was likely to be gratified. It was well in her anxiety that she did not, + and that the crowning trial of the day’s troubles was spared her then. For + at that moment Clytie was lying on the bed where she had flung herself + without undressing, the heavy masses of her blond hair tumbled about her + neck, and her hot face buried in her hands. + </p> + <p> + Of what was the correct Clytie thinking? + </p> + <p> + She was thinking, lying there with her burning cheeks pressed against the + pillow, that she loved the master! She was recalling step by step every + incident that had occurred in their lonely walk. She was repeating to + herself his facile sentences, wringing and twisting them to extract one + drop to assuage the strange thirst that was growing up in her soul. She + was thinking—silly Clytie!—that he had never appeared so kind + before, and she was thinking—sillier Clytie!—that no one had + ever before felt as she did then. + </p> + <p> + How soft and white his hands were! How sweet and gentle were the tones of + his voice! How easily he spoke—so unlike her father, McSnagley, or + the young men whom she met at church or on picnics! How tall and handsome + he looked as he pressed her hand at the door! Did he press her hand, or + was it a mistake? Yes, he must have pressed her hand, for she remembers + now to have pressed his in return. And he put his arm around her waist + once, and she feels it yet, and the strange perfume as he drew her closer + to him. (Mem.—The master had been smoking. Poor Clytie!) + </p> + <p> + When she had reached this point she raised herself and sat up, and began + the process of undressing, mechanically putting each article away in the + precise, methodical habit of her former life. But she found herself soon + sitting again on the bed, twisting her hair, which fell over her plump + white shoulders, idly between her fingers, and patting the carpet with her + small white foot. She had been sitting thus some minutes when she heard + the sound of voices without, the trampling of many feet, and a loud + rapping at the door below. She sprang to the door and looked out in the + passage. Something white passed by her like a flash and crouched down at + the head of the stairs. It was M’liss. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Morpher opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “Is Mr. Morpher in?” said a half dozen strange, hoarse voices. + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s at some of the saloons. Oh, tell me, has anything happened? Is it + about Aristides? Where is he—is he safe?” said Mrs. Morpher, + wringing her hands in agony. + </p> + <p> + “He’s all right,” said one of the men, with Mr. Morpher’s old emphasis; + “but”— + </p> + <p> + “But what?” + </p> + <p> + M’liss moved slowly down the staircase, and Clytie from the passage above + held her breath. + </p> + <p> + “There’s been a row down to Smith’s old Pocket—a fight—a man + killed.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” shouted M’liss from the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “McSnagley—shot dead.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0083"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER VII + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + THE PEOPLE vs. JOHN DOE WATERS. Before Chief Justice LYNCH. + </div> + <p> + The hurried statement of the messenger was corroborated in the streets + that night. It was certain that McSnagley was killed. Smith’s Pocket, + excited but skeptical, had seen the body, had put its fingers in the + bullethole, and was satisfied. Smith’s Pocket, albeit hoarse with shouting + and excitement, still discussed details with infinite relish in bar-rooms + and saloons, and in the main street in clamorous knots that in front of + the jail where the prisoner was confined seemed to swell into a mob. + Smith’s Pocket, bearded, blue-shirted, and belligerent, crowding about + this locality, from time to time uttered appeals to justice that swelled + on the night wind, not unfrequently coupling these invocations with the + name of that eminent jurist—Lynch. + </p> + <p> + Let not the simple reader suppose that the mere taking off of a fellow + mortal had created this uproar. The tenure of life in Smith’s Pocket was + vain and uncertain at the best, and as such philosophically accepted, and + the blowing out of a brief candle here and there seldom left a permanent + shadow with the survivors. In such instances, too, the victims had + received their quietus from the hands of brother townsmen, socially, as it + were, in broad day, in the open streets, and under other mitigating + circumstances. Thus, when Judge Starbottle of Virginia and “French Pete” + exchanged shots with each other across the plaza until their revolvers + were exhausted, and the luckless Pete received a bullet through the lungs, + half the town witnessed it, and were struck with the gallant and + chivalrous bearing of these gentlemen, and to this day point with feelings + of pride and admiration to the bulletholes in the door of the National + Hotel, as they explain how narrow was the escape of the women in the + parlor. But here was a man murdered at night, in a lonely place, and by a + stranger—a man unknown to the saloons of Smith’s Pocket—a + wretch who could not plead the excitement of monte or the delirium of + whiskey as an excuse. No wonder that Smith’s Pocket surged with virtuous + indignation beneath the windows of his prison, and clamored for his blood. + </p> + <p> + And as the crowd thickened and swayed to and fro, the story of his crime + grew exaggerated by hurried and frequent repetition. Half a dozen speakers + volunteered to give the details with an added horror to every sentence. + How one of Morpher’s children had been missing for a week or more. How the + schoolmaster and the parson were taking a walk that evening, and coming to + Smith’s Pocket heard a faint voice from its depths which they recognized + as belonging to the missing child. How they had succeeded in dragging him + out and gathered from his infant lips the story of his incarceration by + the murderer, Waters, and his enforced labors in the mine. How they were + interrupted by the appearance of Waters, followed by a highly colored and + epithet-illustrated account of the interview and quarrel. How Waters + struck the schoolmaster, who returned the blow with a pick. How Waters + thereupon drew a derringer and fired, missing the schoolmaster, but + killing McSnagley behind him. How it was believed that Waters was one of + Joaquin’s gang, that he had killed Smith, etc., etc. At each pause the + crowd pushed and panted, stealthily creeping around the doors and windows + of the jail like some strange beast of prey, until the climax was reached, + and a hush fell, and two men were silently dispatched for a rope, and a + critical examination was made of the limbs of a pine-tree in the vicinity. + </p> + <p> + The man to whom these incidents had the most terrible significance might + have seemed the least concerned as he sat that night but a few feet + removed from the eager crowd without, his hands lightly clasped together + between his knees, and the expression on his face of one whose thoughts + were far away. A candle stuck in a tin sconce on the wall flickered as the + night wind blew freshly through a broken pane of the window. Its uncertain + light revealed a low room whose cloth ceiling was stained and ragged, and + from whose boarded walls the torn paper hung in strips; a lumber-room + partitioned from the front office, which was occupied by a justice of the + peace. If this temporary dungeon had an appearance of insecurity, there + was some compensation in the spectacle of an armed sentinel who sat upon a + straw mattress in the doorway, and another who patrolled the narrow hall + which led to the street. That the prisoner was not placed in one of the + cells in the floor below may have been owing to the fact that the law + recognized his detention as only temporary, and while providing the two + guards as a preventive against the egress of crime within, discreetly + removed all unnecessary and provoking obstacles to the ingress of justice + from without. + </p> + <p> + Since the prisoner’s arrest he had refused to answer any interrogatories. + Since he had been placed in confinement he had not moved from his present + attitude. The guard, finding all attempts at conversation fruitless, had + fallen into a reverie, and regaled himself with pieces of straw plucked + from the mattress. A mouse ran across the floor. The silence contrasted + strangely with the hum of voices in the street. + </p> + <p> + The candle-light, falling across the prisoner’s forehead, showed the + features which Smith’s Pocket knew and recognized as Waters, the strange + prospector. Had M’liss or Aristides seen him then they would have missed + that sinister expression which was part of their fearful remembrance. The + hard, grim outlines of his mouth were relaxed, the broad shoulders were + bent and contracted, the quick, searching eyes were fixed on vacancy. The + strong man—physically strong only—was breaking up. The fist + that might have felled an ox could do nothing more than separate its idle + fingers with childishness of power and purpose. An hour longer in this + condition, and the gallows would have claimed a figure scarcely less limp + and impotent than that it was destined to ultimately reject. + </p> + <p> + He had been trying to collect his thoughts. Would they hang him? No, they + must try him first, legally, and he could prove—he could prove—But + what could he prove? For whenever he attempted to consider the uncertain + chances of his escape, he found his thoughts straying wide of the + question. It was of no use for him to clasp his fingers or knit his brows. + Why did the recollection of a school-fellow, long since forgotten, blot + out all the fierce and feverish memories of the night and the terrible + certainty of the future? Why did the strips of paper hanging from the wall + recall to him the pattern of a kite he had flown forty years ago. In a + moment like this, when all his energies were required and all his cunning + and tact would be called into service, could he think of nothing better + than trying to match the torn paper on the wall, or to count the cracks in + the floor? And an oath rose to his lips, but from very feebleness died + away without expression. + </p> + <p> + Why had he ever come to Smith’s Pocket? If he had not been guided by that + hell-cat, this would not have happened. What if he were to tell <i>all</i> + he knew? What if he should accuse <i>her</i>? But would they be willing to + give up the bird they had already caught? Yet he again found himself + cursing his own treachery and cowardice, and this time an exclamation + burst from his lips and attracted the attention of the guard. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, there! easy, old fellow; thar ain’t any good in that,” said the + sentinel, looking up. “It’s a bad fix you’re in, <i>sure</i>, but rarin’ + and pitchin’ won’t help things. ’T ain’t no use cussin’—leastways, + ’t ain’t that kind o’ swearing that gets a chap out o’ here”, he added, + with a conscientious reservation. “Now, ef I was in your place, I’d kinder + reflect on my sins, and make my peace with God Almighty, for I tell you + the looks o’ them people outside ain’t pleasant. You’re in the hands of + the law, and the law will protect you as far as it can,—as far as + two men can stand agin a hundred; sabe? That’s what’s the matter; and it’s + as well that you knowed that now as any time.” + </p> + <p> + But the prisoner had relapsed into his old attitude, and was surveying the + jailor with the same abstracted air as before. That individual resumed his + seat on the mattress, and now lent his ear to a colloquy which seemed to + be progressing at the foot of the stairs. Presently he was bailed by his + brother turnkey from below. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Bill,” said fidus Achates from the passage, with the usual + Californian prefatory ejaculation. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Here’s M’liss! Says she wants to come up. Shall I let her in?” + </p> + <p> + The subject of inquiry, however, settled the question of admission by + darting past the guard below in this moment of preoccupation, and bounded + up the stairs like a young fawn. The guards laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Now, then, my infant phenomenon,” said the one called Bill, as M’liss + stood panting before him, “wot ’s up? and nextly, wot’s in that bottle?” + </p> + <p> + M’liss whisked the bottle which she held in her hand smartly under her + apron, and said curtly, “Where’s him that killed the parson?” + </p> + <p> + “Yonder,” replied the man, indicating the abstracted figure with his hand. + “Wot do <i>you</i> want with him? None o’ your tricks here, now,” he added + threateningly. + </p> + <p> + “I want to see him!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, look! make the most of your time, and <i>his</i> too, for the + matter of that; but mind, now, no nonsense, M’liss, he won’t stand it!” + repeated the guard with an emphasis in the caution. + </p> + <p> + M’liss crossed the room, until opposite the prisoner. “Are you the chap + that killed the parson?” she said, addressing the motionless figure. + </p> + <p> + Something in the tone of her voice startled the prisoner from the reverie. + He raised his head and glanced quickly, and with his old sinister + expression, at the child. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that to you?” he asked, with the grim lines setting about his + mouth again, and the old harshness of his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t I tell you he wouldn’t stand any of your nonsense, M’liss?” said + the guard testily. + </p> + <p> + M’liss only repeated her question. + </p> + <p> + “And what if I did kill him?” said the prisoner savagely; “what’s that to + you, you young hell-cat? Guard!—damnation!—what do you let her + come here for? Do you hear? Guard!” he screamed, rising in a transport of + passion, “take her away! fling her downstairs! What the h—ll is she + doing here?” + </p> + <p> + “If you was the man that killed McSnagley,” said M’liss, without heeding + the interruption, “I’ve brought you something;” and she drew the bottle + from under her apron and extended it to Waters, adding, “It’s brandy—Cognac—A1.” + </p> + <p> + “Take it away, and take yourself with it,” returned Waters, without + abating his angry accents. “Take it away! do you hear?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s what I call ongrateful, dog-gone my skin if it ain’t,” said + the guard, who had been evidently struck with M’liss’s generosity. “Pass + the licker this way, my beauty, and I’ll keep it till he changes his mind. + He’s naturally a little flustered just now, but he’ll come round after you + go.” + </p> + <p> + But M’liss didn’t accede to this change in the disposition of the gift, + and was evidently taken aback by her reception and the refusal of the + proffered comfort. + </p> + <p> + “Come, hand the bottle here!” repeated the guard. “It’s agin rules to + bring the pris’ner anything, anyway, and it’s confiscated to the law. It’s + agin the rules, too, to ask a pris’ner any question that’ll criminate him, + and on the whole you’d better go, M’liss,” added the guard, to whom the + appearance of the bottle had been the means of provoking a spasm of + discipline. + </p> + <p> + But M’liss refused to make over the coveted treasure. Bill arose half + jestingly and endeavored to get possession of the bottle. A struggle + ensued, good-naturedly on the part of the guard, but characterized on the + part of M’liss by that half-savage passion which any thwarted whim or + instinct was sure to provoke in her nature. At last with a curse she freed + herself from his grasp, and seizing the bottle by the neck aimed it with + the full strength of her little arm fairly at his head. But he was quick + enough to avert that important object, if not quick enough to save his + shoulder from receiving the strength of the blow, which shattered the thin + glass and poured the fiery contents of the bottle over his shirt and + breast, saturating his clothes, and diffusing a sharp alcoholic odor + through the room. + </p> + <p> + A forced laugh broke from his lips, as he sank back on the mattress, not + without an underlying sense of awe at this savage girl who stood panting + before him, and from whom he had just escaped a blow which might have been + fatal. “It’s a pity to waste so much good licker,” he added, with affected + carelessness, narrowly watching each movement of the young pythoness, + whose rage was not yet abated. + </p> + <p> + “Come, M’liss,” he said at last, “we’ll say quits. You’ve lost your + brandy, and I’ve got some of the pieces of yonder bottle sticking in my + shoulder yet. I suppose brandy is good for bruises, though. Hand me the + light!” + </p> + <p> + M’liss reached the candle from the sconce and held it by the guard as he + turned back the collar of his shirt to lay bare his shoulder. “So,” he + muttered, “black and blue; no bones broken, though no fault of yours, eh? + my young cherub, if it wasn’t. There—why, what are you looking at in + that way, M’liss, are you crazy?—Hell’s furies, don’t hold the light + so near! What are you doing; Hell—ho, there! Help!” + </p> + <p> + Too late, for in an instant he was a sheet of living flame. When or how + the candle had touched his garments, saturated with the inflammable fluid, + Waters, the only inactive spectator in the room, could never afterward + tell. He only knew that the combustion was instantaneous and complete, and + before the cry had died from his lips, not only the guard, but the straw + mattress on which he had been sitting, and the loose strips of paper + hanging from the walls, and the torn cloth ceiling above were in flames. + </p> + <p> + “Help! Help! Fire! Fire!” + </p> + <p> + With a superhuman effort, M’liss dragged the prisoner past the blazing + mattress, through the doorway into the passage, and drew the door, which + opened outwardly, against him. The unhappy guard, still blazing like a + funeral pyre, after wildly beating the air with his arms for a few + seconds, dashed at the broken window, which gave way with his weight, and + precipitated him, still flaming, into the yard below. A column of smoke + and a licking tongue of flame leaped from the open window at the same + moment, and the cry of fire was reechoed from a hundred voices in the + street. But scarcely had M’liss closed the open door against Waters, when + the guard from the doorway mounted the stairs in time to see a flaming + figure leap from the window. The room was filled with smoke and fire. With + an instinct of genius, M’liss, pointing to the open window, shouted + hoarsely in his ear:— + </p> + <p> + “Waters has escaped!” + </p> + <p> + A cry of fury from the guard was echoed from the stairs, even now crowded + by the excited mob, who feared the devastating element might still cheat + them of their intended victim. In another moment the house was emptied, + and the front street deserted, as the people rushed to the rear of the + jail—climbing fences and stumbling over ditches in pursuit of the + imagined runaway. M’liss seized the hat and coat of the luckless “Bill,” + and dragging the prisoner from his place of concealment hurriedly equipped + him, and hastened through the blinding smoke of the staircase boldly on + the heels of the retiring crowd. Once in the friendly darkness of the + street, it was easy to mingle with the pushing throng until an alley + crossing at right angles enabled them to leave the main thoroughfare. A + few moments’ rapid flight, and the outskirts of the town were reached, the + tall pines opened their abysmal aisles to the fugitives, and M’liss paused + with her companion. Until daybreak, at least, here they were safe! + </p> + <p> + From the time they had quitted the burning room to that moment, Waters had + passed into his listless, abstracted condition, so helpless and feeble + that he retained the grasp of M’liss’s hand more through some instinctive + prompting rather than the dictates of reason. M’liss had found it + necessary to almost drag him from the main street and the hurrying crowd, + which seemed to exercise a strange fascination over his bewildered senses. + And now he sat down passively beside her, and seemed to submit to the + guidance of her superior nature. + </p> + <p> + “You’re safe enough now till daylight,” said M’liss, when she had + recovered her breath, “but you must make the best time you can through + these woods to-night, keeping the wind to your back, until you come to the + Wingdam road. There! do you hear?” said M’liss, a little vexed at her + companion’s apathy. + </p> + <p> + Waters released the hand of M’liss, and commenced mechanically to button + his coat around his chest with fumbling, purposeless fingers. He then + passed his hand across his forehead as if to clear his confused and + bewildered brain; all this, however, to no better result than to + apparently root his feet to the soil and to intensify the stupefaction + which seemed to be creeping over him. + </p> + <p> + “Be quick, now! You’ve no time to lose! Keep straight on through the woods + until you see the stars again before you, and you’re on the other side of + the ridge. What are you waiting for?” And M’liss stamped her little foot + impatiently. + </p> + <p> + An idea which had been struggling for expression at last seemed to dawn in + his eyes. Something like a simpering blush crept over his face as he + fumbled in his pocket. At last, drawing forth a twenty-dollar piece, he + bashfully offered it to M’liss. In a twinkling the extended arm was + stricken up, and the bright coin flew high in the air, and disappeared in + the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “Keep your money! I don’t want it. Don’t do that again!” said M’liss, + highly excited, “or I’ll—I’ll—bite you!” + </p> + <p> + Her wicked little white teeth flashed ominously as she said it. + </p> + <p> + “Get off while you can. Look!” she added, pointing to a column of flame + shooting up above the straggling mass of buildings in the village, “the + jail is burning; and if that goes, the block will go with it. Before + morning these woods will be filled with people. Save yourself while you + can!” + </p> + <p> + Waters turned and moved away in the darkness. “Keep straight on, and don’t + waste a moment,” urged the child, as the man seemed still disposed to + linger. “Trot now!” and in another moment he seemed to melt into the + forest depths. + </p> + <p> + M’liss threw her apron around her head, and coiled herself up at the root + of a tree in something of her old fashion. She had prophesied truly of the + probable extent of the fire. The fresh wind, whirling the sparks over the + little settlement, had already fanned the single flame into the broad + sheet which now glowed fiercely, defining the main street along its entire + length. The breeze which fanned her cheek bore the crash of falling + timbers and the shouts of terrified and anxious men. There were no engines + in Smith’s Pocket, and the contest was unequal. Nothing but a change of + wind could save the doomed settlement. + </p> + <p> + The red glow lit up the dark cheek of M’liss and kindled a savage light in + her black eyes. Relieved by the background of the sombre woods, she might + have been a red-handed Nemesis looking over the city of Vengeance. As the + long tongues of flame licked the broad colonnade of the National Hotel, + and shot a wreathing pillar of fire and smoke high into the air, M’liss + extended her tiny fist and shook it at the burning building with an + inspiration that at the moment seemed to transfigure her. + </p> + <p> + So the night wore away until the first red bars of morning light gleamed + beyond the hill, and seemed to emulate the dying embers of the devastated + settlement. M’liss for the first time began to think of the home she had + quitted the night before, and looked with some anxiety in the direction of + “Mountain Ranch.” Its white walls and little orchard were untouched, and + looked peacefully over the blackened and deserted village. M’liss rose, + and, stretching her cramped limbs, walked briskly toward the town. She had + proceeded but a short distance when she heard the sound of cautious and + hesitating footsteps behind her, and, facing quickly about, encountered + the figure of Waters. + </p> + <p> + “Are you drunk?” said M’liss passionately, “or what do you mean by this + nonsense?” + </p> + <p> + The man approached her with a strange smile on his face, rubbing his hands + together, and shivering as with cold. When he had reached her side he + attempted to take her hand. M’liss shrank away from him with an expression + of disgust. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing here again?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I want to go with you. It’s dark in there,” he said, motioning to the + wood he had just quitted, “and I don’t like to be alone. You’ll let me be + with you, won’t you? I won’t be any trouble;” and a feeble smile flickered + on his lips. + </p> + <p> + M’liss darted a quick look into his face. The grim outlines of his mouth + were relaxed, and his lips moved again impotently. But his eyes were + bright and open,—bright with a look that was new to M’liss—that + imparted a strange softness and melancholy to his features,—the + incipient gleam of insanity! + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0084"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER VIII + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + THE AUTHOR TO THE READER—EXPLANATORY + </div> + <p> + If I remember rightly, in one of the admirable tragedies of Tsien Tsiang + at a certain culminating point of interest an innocent person is about to + be sacrificed. The knife is raised and the victim meekly awaits the + stroke. At this moment the author of the play appears on the stage, and, + delivering an excellent philosophical dissertation on the merits of the + “situation,” shows that by the purest principles of art the sacrifice is + necessary, but at the same time offers to the audience the privilege of + changing the denouement. Such, however, is the nice aesthetic sense of a + Chinese auditory, and so universal the desire of bloodshed in the heathen + breast, that invariably at each representation of this remarkable tragedy + the cause of humanity gives way to the principles of art. + </p> + <p> + I offer this precedent as an excuse for digressing at a moment when I have + burned down a small settlement, dispatched a fellow being, and left my + heroine alone in the company of an escaped convict who has just developed + insanity as a new social quality. My object in thus digressing is to + confer with the reader in regard to the evolution of this story,—a + familiarity not without precedent, as I might prove from most of the old + Greek comedies, whose <i>parabasis</i> permits the poet to mingle freely + with the <i>dramatis personae</i>, to address the audience and descant at + length in regard to himself, his play, and his own merits. + </p> + <p> + The fact is that, during the progress of this story, I have received many + suggestions from intimate friends in regard to its incidents and + construction. I have also been in the receipt of correspondence from + distant readers, one letter of which I recall signed by an “Honest Miner,” + who advises me to “do the right thing by M’liss,” or intimates somewhat + obscurely that he will “bust my crust for me,” which, though complimentary + in its abstract expression of interest, and implying a taste for + euphonism, evinces an innate coarseness which I fear may blunt his + perceptions of delicate shades and Greek outlines. + </p> + <p> + Again, the practical nature of Californians and their familiarity with + scenes and incidents which would be novel to other people have occasioned + me great uneasiness. In the course of the last three chapters of M’liss I + have received some twenty or thirty communications from different parts of + the State corroborating incidents of my story, which I solemnly assure the + reader is purely fictitious. Some one has lately sent me a copy of an + interior paper containing an old obituary of Smith of Smith’s Pocket. + Another correspondent writes to me that he was acquainted with the + schoolmaster in the fall of ’49, and that they “grubbed together.” The + editors of the serial in which this story appears assure me that they have + received an advertisement from the landlord of the “National Hotel” + contingent upon an editorial notice of its having been at one time the + abode of M’liss; while an aunt of the heroine, alluding in excellent terms + to the reformed character of her niece M’liss, clenches her sincerity by + requesting the loan of twenty dollars to buy clothes for the desolate + orphan. + </p> + <p> + Under these circumstances I have hesitated to go on. What were the + bodiless creatures of my fancy—the pale phantoms of thought, evoked + in the solitude of my chamber, and sometimes even midst the hum of busy + streets—have suddenly grown into flesh and blood, living people, + protected by the laws of society, and having their legal right to actions + for slander in any court. Worse than that, I have sometimes thought with + terror of the new responsibility which might attach to my development of + their characters. What if I were obliged to support and protect these + Frankenstein monsters? What if the original of the principal villain of my + story should feel impelled through aesthetic principles of art to work out + in real life the supposititious denouement I have sketched for him? + </p> + <p> + I have therefore concluded to lay aside my pen for this week, leaving the + catastrophe impending, and await the suggestion of my correspondents. I do + so the more cheerfully as it enables the editors of this weekly to publish + twenty-seven more columns of Miss Braddon’s “Outcasts of Society” and the + remainder of the “Duke’s Motto,”—two works which in the quiet + simplicity of their home-like pictures and household incidents are + attended with none of the difficulties which beset my unhappy story. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0085"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER IX + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + CLEANING UP + </div> + <p> + As the master, wan-eyed and unrefreshed by slumber, strayed the next + morning among the blackened ruins of the fire, he was conscious of having + undergone some strange revulsion of sentiment. What he remembered of the + last evening’s events, though feverish and indistinct as a dream, and + though, like a dream, without coherency or connected outline, had + nevertheless seriously impressed him. How frivolous and trifling his past + life and its pursuits looked through the lightning vista opened to his + eyes by the flash of Waters’s pistol! “Suppose I had been killed,” + ruminated the master, “what then? A paragraph in the ‘Banner,’ headed + ‘Fatal Affray,’ and my name added to the already swollen list of victims + to lawless violence and crime! Humph! A pretty scrape, truly!” And the + master ground his teeth with vexation. + </p> + <p> + Let not the reader judge him too hastily. In the best regulated mind, + thankfulness for deliverance from danger is apt to be mingled with some + doubts as to the necessity of the trial. + </p> + <p> + In this frame of mind the last person he would have cared to meet was + Clytie. That young woman’s evil genius, however, led her to pass the burnt + district that morning. Perhaps she had anticipated the meeting. At all + events, he had proceeded but a few steps before he was confronted by the + identical round hat and cherry colored ribbons. But in his present humor + the cheerful color somehow reminded him of the fire and of a ruddy stain + over McSnagley’s heart, and invested the innocent Clytie with a figurative + significance. Now Clytie’s reveries at that moment were pleasant, if the + brightness of her eyes and the freshened color on her cheeks were any + sign, and, as she had not seen the master since then, she naturally + expected to take up the thread of romance where it had been dropped. But + it required all her feminine tact to conceal her embarrassment at his + formal greeting and constrained manner. + </p> + <p> + “He is bashful,” reasoned Clytie to herself. + </p> + <p> + “This girl is a tremendous fool,” growled the master inwardly. + </p> + <p> + An awkward pause ensued. Finally, Clytie <i>loquitur</i>:— + </p> + <p> + “M’liss has been missing since the fire!” + </p> + <p> + “Missing?” echoed the master in his natural tone. + </p> + <p> + Clytie bit her lip with vexation. “Yes, she’s always running away. She’ll + be back again. But you look interested. Do you know,” she continued with + exceeding archness, “I sometimes think, Mr. Gray, if M’liss were a little + older”— + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, putting this and that together, you know!” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “People will talk, you know,” continued Clytie, with that excessive + fondness weak people exhibit in enveloping in mystery the commonest + affairs of life. + </p> + <p> + “People are d——d fools!” roared the master. + </p> + <p> + The correct Clytie was a little shocked. Perhaps underneath it was a + secret admiration of the transgressor. Force even of this cheap quality + goes a good way with some natures. + </p> + <p> + “That is,” continued the master, with an increase of dignity in inverse + proportion to the lapse he had made, “people are apt to be mistaken, Miss + Morpher, and without meaning it, to do infinite injustice to their fellow + mortals. But I see I am detaining you. I will try and find Melissa. I wish + you good-morning.” And Don Whiskerandos stalked solemnly away. + </p> + <p> + Clytie turned red and white by turns, and her eyes filled with tears. This + denouement to her dreams was utterly unexpected. While a girl of stronger + character and active intelligence would have employed the time in + digesting plans of future retaliation and revenge, Clytie’s dull brain and + placid nature were utterly perplexed and shaken. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” said Clytie to herself, as she started home, “if he don’t love + me, why don’t he say so?” + </p> + <p> + The master, or Mr. Gray, as we may now call him as he draws near the close + of his professional career, took the old trail through the forest, which + led to M’liss’s former hiding-place. He walked on briskly, revolving in + his mind the feasibility of leaving Smith’s Pocket. The late disaster, + which would affect the prosperity of the settlement for some time to come, + offered an excuse to him to give up his situation. On searching his + pockets he found his present capital to amount to ten dollars. This + increased by forty dollars, due him from the trustees, would make fifty + dollars; deduct thirty dollars for liabilities, and he would have twenty + dollars left to begin the world anew. Youth and hope added an indefinite + number of ciphers to the right hand of these figures, and in this sanguine + mood our young Alnaschar walked on until he had reached the old pine + throne in the bank of the forest. M’liss was not there. He sat down on the + trunk of the tree, and for a few moments gave himself up to the + associations it suggested. What would become of M’liss after he was gone? + But he quickly dropped the subject as one too visionary and sentimental + for his then fiercely practical consideration, and, to prevent the + recurrence of such distracting fancies, began to retrace his steps toward + the settlement. At the edge of the woods, at a point where the trail + forked toward the old site of Smith’s Pocket, he saw M’liss coming toward + him. Her ordinary pace on such occasions was a kind of Indian trot; to his + surprise she was walking slowly, with her apron thrown over her head,—an + indication of meditation with M’liss and the usual way in which she + excluded the outer world in studying her lessons. When she was within a + few feet of him he called her by name. She started as she recognized him. + There was a shade of seriousness in her dark eyes, and the hand that took + his was listless and totally unlike her old frank, energetic grasp. + </p> + <p> + “You look worried, M’liss,” said Mr. Gray soothingly, as the old + sentimental feeling crept over his heart. “What’s the matter now?” + </p> + <p> + M’liss replied by seating herself on the bank beside the road, and pointed + to a place by her side. Mr. Gray took the proffered seat. M’liss then, + fixing her eyes on some distant part of the view, remained for some + moments in silence. Then, without turning her head or moving her eyes, she + asked:— + </p> + <p> + “What’s that they call a girl that has money left her?” + </p> + <p> + “An heiress, M’liss?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, an heiress.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Mr. Gray. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said M’liss, without moving her eyes, “I’m one,—I’m a + heiress!” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that, M’liss?” said Mr. Gray laughingly. + </p> + <p> + M’liss was silent again. Suddenly turning her eyes full upon him, she + said:— + </p> + <p> + “Can you keep a secret?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mr. Gray, beginning to be impressed by the child’s manner. + “Listen, then.” + </p> + <p> + In short quick sentences, M’liss began. How Aristides had several times + hinted of the concealed riches of Smith’s Pocket. How he had last night + repeated the story to her of a strange discovery he had made. How she + remembered to have heard her father often swear that there was money “in + that hole,” if he only had means to work it. How, partly impressed by this + statement and partly from curiosity and pity for the prisoner, she had + visited him in confinement. An account of her interview, the origin of the + fire, her flight with Waters. (<i>Questions</i> by Mr. Gray: What was your + object in assisting this man to escape? <i>Ans</i>. They were going to + kill him. <i>Ques</i>. Hadn’t he killed McSnagley. <i>Ans</i>. Yes, but + McSnagley ought to have been killed long ago.) How she had taken leave of + him that morning. How he had come back again “silly.” How she had dragged + him on toward the Wingdam road, and how he had told her that all the + hidden wealth of Smith’s Pocket had belonged to her father. How she had + found out, from some questions, that he had known her father. But how all + his other answers were “silly.” + </p> + <p> + “And where is he now?” asked Mr. Gray. + </p> + <p> + “Gone,” said M’liss. “I left him at the edge of the wood to go back and + get some provisions, and when I returned he was gone. If he had any senses + left, he’s miles away by this time. When he was off I went back to Smith’s + Pocket. I found the hidden opening and saw the gold.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gray looked at her curiously. He had, in his more intimate knowledge + of her character, noticed the unconcern with which she spoke of the + circumstances of her father’s death and the total lack of any sentiment of + filial regard. The idea that this man whom she had aided in escaping had + ever done her injury had not apparently entered her mind, nor did Mr. Gray + think it necessary to hint the deeper suspicion he had gathered from Dr. + Duchesne that Waters had murdered her father. If the story of the + concealed treasures of Smith’s Pocket were exaggerated he could easily + satisfy himself on that point. M’liss met his suggestion to return to the + Pocket with alacrity, and the two started away in that direction. + </p> + <p> + It was late in the afternoon when Mr. Gray returned. His heightened color + and eager inquiry for Dr. Duchesne provoked the usual hope from the people + that he met “that it was nothing serious.” No, nothing was the matter, the + master answered with a slight laugh, but would they send the doctor to his + schoolhouse when he returned? “That young chap’s worse than he thinks,” + was one sympathizing suggestion; “this kind of life’s too rough for his + sort.” + </p> + <p> + To while away the interim, Mr. Gray stopped on his way to the schoolhouse + at the stage office as the Wingdam stage drew up and disgorged its + passengers. He was listlessly watching the passengers as they descended + when a soft voice from the window addressed him, “May I trouble you for + your arm as I get down?” Mr. Gray looked up. It was a singular request, as + the driver was at that moment standing by the door, apparently for that + purpose. But the request came from a handsome woman, and with a bow the + young man stepped to the door. The lady laid her hand lightly on his arm, + sprang from the stage with a dexterity that showed the service to have + been merely ceremonious, thanked him with an elaboration of acknowledgment + which seemed equally gratuitous, and disappeared in the office. + </p> + <p> + “That’s what I call a dead set,” said the driver, drawing a long breath, + as he turned to Mr. Gray, who stood in some embarrassment. “Do you know + her?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mr. Gray laughingly, “do you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nary time! But take care of yourself, young man; she’s after you, sure!” + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Gray was continuing his walk to the schoolhouse, unmindful of the + caution. For the momentary glimpse he had caught of this woman’s face, she + appeared to be about thirty. Her dress, though tasteful and elegant, in + the present condition of California society afforded no criterion of her + social status. But the figure of Dr. Duchesne waiting for him at the + schoolhouse door just then usurped the place of all others, and she + dropped out of his mind. + </p> + <p> + “Now then,” said the doctor, as the young man grasped his hand, “you want + me to tell you why your eyes are bloodshot, why your cheeks burn, and your + hand is dry and hot?” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly! Perhaps you’ll understand the symptoms better when you’ve + heard my story. Sit down here and listen.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor took the proffered seat on top of a desk, and Mr. Gray, after + assuring himself that they were entirely alone, related the circumstances + he had gathered from M’liss that morning. + </p> + <p> + “You see, doctor, how unjust were your surmises in regard to this girl,” + continued Mr. Gray. “But let that pass now. At the conclusion of her + story, I offered to go with her to this Ali Baba cave. It was no easy job + finding the concealed entrance, but I found it at last, and ample + corroboration of every item of this wild story. The pocket is rich with + the most valuable ore. It has evidently been worked for some time since + the discovery was made, but there is still a fortune in its walls, and + several thousand dollars of ore sacked up in its galleries. Look at that!” + continued Mr. Gray, as he drew an oblong mass of quartz and metal from his + pocket. “Think of a secret of this kind having been intrusted for three + weeks to a penniless orphan girl of twelve and an eccentric schoolboy of + ten, and undivulged except when a proper occasion offered.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Duchesne smiled. “And Waters is really clear?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mr. Gray. + </p> + <p> + “And M’liss assisted him to escape?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you are an innocent one! And you see nothing in this but an act of + thoughtless generosity? No assisting of an old accomplice to escape?” + </p> + <p> + “I see nothing but truth in her statement,” returned Mr. Gray stoutly. “If + there has been any wrong committed, I believe her to be innocent of its + knowledge.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m glad at least the money goes to her and not to him. But how are + you to establish her right to this property?” + </p> + <p> + “That was my object in conferring with you. At present the claim is + abandoned. I have taken up the ground in my own name (for her), and this + afternoon I posted up the usual notice.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on. You are not so much of a fool, after all.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you! This will hold until a better claim is established. Now, if + Smith had discovered this lead, and was, as the lawyers say, ‘seized and + possessed’ of it at the time of his death, M’liss, of course, as next of + kin, inherits it.” + </p> + <p> + “But how can this be proved? It is the general belief that Smith committed + suicide through extreme poverty and destitution.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gray drew a letter from his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “You remember the memorandum I showed you, which came into my possession. + Here it is; it is dated the day of his death.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Duchesne took it and read:— + </p> + <p> + “July 17th. Five hours in drift—dipping west. Took out 20 oz.—cleaned + up 40 oz.—Mem. Saw M. S.” + </p> + <p> + “This evidently refers to actual labor in the mine at the time,” said Dr. + Duchesne. “But is it legally sufficient to support a claim of this + magnitude? That is the only question now. You say this paper was the leaf + of an old memorandum, torn off and used for a letter by M’liss; do you + know where the orignal book can be found?” + </p> + <p> + “Aristides has it, or knows where it is,” answered Mr. Gray. + </p> + <p> + “Find it by all means. And get legal advice before you do anything. Go + this very evening to Judge Plunkett and state your case to him. The + promise of a handsome contingent fee won’t hurt M’liss’s prospects any. + Remember, our ideas of abstract justice and the letter of the law in this + case may be entirely different. Take Judge Plunkett your proofs; that is,” + said the Doctor, stopping and eying his friend keenly, “if you have no + fears for M’liss if this matter should be thoroughly ventilated.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gray did not falter. + </p> + <p> + “I go at once,” said he gayly, “if only to prove the child’s claim to a + good name if we fail in getting her property.” + </p> + <p> + The two men left the schoolhouse together. As they reached the main + street, the doctor paused:— + </p> + <p> + “You are still determined?” + </p> + <p> + “I am,” responded the young man. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, and God speed you, then,” and the doctor left him. + </p> + <p> + The fire had been particularly severe on the legal fraternity in the + settlement, and Judge Plunkett’s office, together with those of his + learned brethren, had been consumed with the courthouse on the previous + night. The judge’s house was on the outskirts of the village, and thither + Mr. Gray proceeded. The judge was at home, but engaged at that moment. Mr. + Gray would wait, and was ushered into a small room evidently used as a + kitchen, but just then littered with law books, bundles of papers, and + blanks that had been hastily rescued from the burning building. The + sideboard groaned with the weight of several volumes of New York Reports, + that seemed to impart a dusty flavor to the adjoining victual. Mr. Gray + picked up a volume of supreme court decisions from the coal-scuttle, and + was deep in an interesting case, when the door of the adjoining room + opened and Judge Plunkett appeared. + </p> + <p> + He was an oily man of about fifty, with spectacles. He was glad to see the + schoolmaster. He hoped he was not suffering from the excitement of the + previous evening. For his part, the spectacle of sober citizens rising in + a body to vindicate the insulted majesty of the laws of society, and of + man, had always something sublime in it. And the murderer had really got + away after all. And it was a narrow escape the schoolmaster had, too, at + Smith’s Pocket. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gray took advantage of the digression to state his business. He + briefly recounted the circumstances of the discovery of the hidden wealth + of Smith’s Pocket, and exhibited the memorandum he had shown the doctor. + When he had concluded, Judge Plunkett looked at him over his spectacles, + and rubbed his hands with satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “You apprehend,” said the judge eagerly, “that you will have no difficulty + in procuring this book from which the leaf was originally torn?” + </p> + <p> + “None,” replied Mr. Gray. + </p> + <p> + “Then, sir, I should give as my professional opinion that the case was + already won.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gray shook the hand of the little man with great fervor, and thanked + him for his belief. “And so this property will go entirely to M’liss?” he + asked again. + </p> + <p> + “Well—ah—no—not exactly,” said Judge Plunkett, with some + caution. “She will benefit by it undoubtedly—undoubtedly,” and he + rubbed his hands again. + </p> + <p> + “Why not M’liss alone? There are no other claimants!” said Mr. Gray. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon—you mistake,” said Judge Plunkett, with a smile. + “You surely would not leave out the widow and mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, M’liss is an orphan,” said Mr. Gray in utter bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “A sad mistake, sir,—a painful though natural mistake. Mr. Smith, + though separated from his wife, was never divorced. A very affecting + history—the old story, you know—an injured and loving woman + deserted by her natural protector, but disdaining to avail herself of our + legal aid. By a singular coincidence that I should have told you, I am + anticipating you in this very case. Your services, however, I feel will be + invaluable. Your concern for her amiable and interesting daughter Narcissa—ah, + no, Melissa—will, of course, make you with us. You have never seen + Mrs. Smith? A fine-looking, noble woman, sir,—though still + disconsolate,—still thinking of the departed one. By another + singular coincidence that I should have told you, she is here now. You + shall see her, sir. Pray, let me introduce you;” and still rubbing his + hands, Judge Plunkett led the way to the adjoining room. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gray followed him mechanically. A handsome woman rose from the sofa as + they entered. It was the woman he assisted to alight from the Wingdam + stage. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2HCH0086"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + CHAPTER X + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + THE RED ROCK + </div> + <p> + In the strong light that fell upon her face, Mr. Gray had an opportunity + to examine her features more closely. Her eyes, which were dark and + singularly brilliant, were half closed, either from some peculiar + conformation of the lids, or an habitual effort to conceal expression. Her + skin was colorless with that satin-like lustre that belongs to some + brunettes, relieved by one or two freckles that were scarcely blemishes. + Her face was squared a little at the lower angles, but the chin was round + and soft, and the curves about the mouth were full and tender enough to + destroy the impression left by contemplation of those rigid outlines. The + effect of its general contour was that of a handsome woman of thirty. In + detail, as the eye dwelt upon any particular feature, you could have added + a margin of ten years either way. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Smith—Mr. Gray,” said the lawyer briskly. “Mr. Gray is the + gentleman who, since the decease of your husband, has taken such a + benevolent interest in our playful Narcissa—Melissa, I should say. + He is the preceptor of our district school, and beside his relation as + teacher to your daughter has, I may say in our legal fashion, stood <i>in + loco parentis</i>—in other words, has been a parent, a—a—father + to her.” + </p> + <p> + At the conclusion of this speech Mrs. Smith darted a quick glance at Mr. + Gray, which was unintelligible to any but a woman. As there were none of + her own keen-witted sex present to make an ungracious interpretation of + it, it passed unnoticed, except the slight embarrassment and confusion it + caused the young man from its apparent gratuity. + </p> + <p> + “We have met before, I believe,” said Mrs. Smith, with her bright eyes + half hid and her white teeth half disclosed. “I can easily imagine Mr. + Gray’s devotion to a friend from his courtesy to a stranger. Let me thank + you again for both my daughter and myself.” + </p> + <p> + In the desperate hope of saying something natural, Mr. Gray asked if she + had seen Melissa yet. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear, no! Think how provoking! Judge Plunkett says it is absolutely + impossible till some tiresome formalities are over. There are so many + stupid forms to go through with first. But how is she? You have seen her, + have you not? you will see her again to-night, perhaps? How I long to + embrace her again! She was a mere baby when she left me. Tell her how I + long to fly to her.” + </p> + <p> + Her impassioned utterance and the dramatic gestures that accompanied these + words afforded a singular contrast to the cool way with which she + rearranged the folds of her dress when she had finished, folding her hands + over her lap and settling herself unmistakably back again on the sofa. + Perhaps it was this that made Mr. Gray think she had, at some time, been + an actress. But the next moment he caught her eye again and felt pleased,—and + again vexed with himself for being so,—and in this mental condition + began to speak in favor of his old pupil. His embarrassment passed away as + he warmed with his subject, dwelling at length on M’liss’s better + qualities, and did not return until in a breathless pause he became aware + that this woman’s bright eyes were bent upon him. The color rose in his + cheek, and with a half-muttered apology for his prolixity he offered his + excuses to retire. + </p> + <p> + “Stay a moment, Mr. Gray,” said the lawyer. “You are going to town, and + will not think it a trouble to see Mrs. Smith safely back to her hotel. + You can talk these things over with our fair friend on the way. To-morrow, + at ten, I trust to see you both again.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I am taxing Mr. Gray’s gallantry too much,” interposed the lady + with a very vivid disclosure of eyes and teeth. “Mr. Gray would be only + too happy.” After he had uttered this civility, there was a slight + consciousness of truth about it that embarrassed him again. But Mrs. Smith + took his proffered arm, and they bade the lawyer good-night and passed out + in the starlit night together. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Four weeks have elapsed since the advent of Mrs. Smith to the settlement,—four + weeks that might have been years in any other but a California mining + camp, for the wonderful change that has been wrought in its physical + aspect. Each stage has brought its load of fresh adventurers; another + hotel, which sprang up on the site of the National, has its new landlord, + and a new set of faces about its hospitable board, where the conventional + bean appears daily as a modest vegetable or in the insincerer form of + coffee. The sawmills have been hard at work for the last month, and huge + gaps appear in the circling files of redwood where the fallen trees are + transmuted to a new style of existence in the damp sappy tenements that + have risen over the burnt district. The “great strike” at Smith’s Pocket + has been heralded abroad, and above and below, and on either side of the + crumbling tunnel that bears that name, as other tunnels are piercing the + bowels of the mountain, shafts are being sunk, and claims are taken up + even to the crest of Red Mountain, in the hope of striking the great Smith + lead. Already an animated discussion has sprung up in the columns of the + “Red Mountain Banner” in regard to the direction of the famous lead,—a + discussion assisted by correspondents who have assumed all the letters of + the alphabet in their anonymous arguments, and have formed the opposing + “angle” and “dip” factions of Smith’s Pocket. But whatever be the + direction of the lead, the progress of the settlement has been steadily + onward, with an impetus gained by the late disaster. That classical but + much abused bird, the Phoenix, has been invoked from its ashes in several + editorials in the “Banner,” to sit as a type of resuscitated Smith’s + Pocket, while in the homelier phrase of an honest miner “it seemed as if + the fire kem to kinder clean out things for a fresh start.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the quasi-legal administration of the estate of Smith is drawing + near a termination that seems to credit the prophetic assertion of Judge + Plunkett. One fact has been evolved in the process of examination, viz., + that Smith had discovered the new lead before he was murdered. It was a + fair hypothesis that the man who assumed the benefit of his discovery was + the murderer, but as this did not immediately involve the settlement of + the estate it excited little comment or opposition. The probable murderer + had escaped. Judicial investigations even in the hands of the people had + been attended with disastrous public results, and there was no desire on + the part of justice to open the case and deal with an abstract principle + when there was no opportunity of making an individual example. The + circumstances were being speedily forgotten in the new excitement; even + the presence of Mrs. Smith lost its novelty. The “Banner,” when alluding + to her husband, spoke of him as the “late J. Smith, Esq.,” attributing the + present activity of business as the result of his lifelong example of + untiring energy, and generally laid the foundation of a belief, which + thereafter obtained, that he died comfortably in the bosom of his family, + surrounded by disconsolate friends. The history of all pioneer settlements + has this legendary basis, and M’liss may live to see the day when her + father’s connection with the origin of the settlement shall become + apocryphal, and contested like that of Romulus and Remus and their wolfish + wet-nurse. + </p> + <p> + It is to the everlasting credit and honor of Smith’s Pocket that the + orphan and widow meet no opposition from the speculative community, and + that the claim’s utmost boundaries are liberally rendered. How far this + circumstance may be owing to the rare personal attractions of the charming + widow or to M’liss’s personal popularity, I shall not pretend to say. It + is enough that when the brief of Judge Plunkett’s case is ready there are + clouds of willing witnesses to substantiate and corroborate doubtful + points to an extent that is more creditable to their generosity than their + veracity. + </p> + <p> + M’liss has seen her mother. Mr. Gray, with his knowledge of his pupil’s + impulsiveness, has been surprised to notice that the new relationship + seems to awaken none of those emotions in the child’s nature that he + confidently looked for. On the occasion of their first meeting, to which + Mr. Gray was admitted, M’liss maintained a guarded shyness totally + different from her usual frank boldness,—a shyness that was the more + remarkable from its contrast with the unrepressed and somewhat dramatic + emotions of Mrs. Smith. Now, under her mother’s protection and care, he + observes another radical change in M’liss’s appearance. She is dressed + more tastefully and neatly—not entirely the result of a mother’s + influence, but apparently the result of some natural instinct now for the + first time indulged, and exhibited in a ribbon or a piece of jewelry, worn + with a certain air of consciousness. There is a more strict attention to + the conventionalities of life; her speech is more careful and guarded; her + walk, literally, more womanly and graceful. Those things Mr. Gray + naturally attributes to the influence of the new relation, though he + cannot help recalling his meeting with M’liss in the woods, on the morning + of the fire, and of dating many of these changes from thence. + </p> + <p> + It is a pleasant morning, and Mr. Gray is stirring early. He has been + busied in preparation the night previous, for this is his last day in + Smith’s Pocket. He lingers for some time about the schoolhouse, gathering + up those little trifles which lie about his desk, which have each a + separate history in his experience of Smith’s Pocket, and are a part of + the incrustations of his life. Lastly, a file of the “Red Mountain + Banner,” is taken from the same receptacle and packed away in his bag. He + walks to the door and turns to look back. Has he forgotten anything? No, + nothing. But still he lingers. He wonders who will take his place at the + desk, and for the first time in his pedagogue experience, perhaps, feels + something of an awful responsibility as he thinks of his past influence + over the wretched little beings who used to tremble at his nod, and whose + future, ill or good, he may have helped to fashion. At last he closes the + door, almost tenderly, and walks thoughtfully down the road. He has to + pass the cabin of an Irish miner, whose little boy is toddling in the + ditch, with a pinafore, hands, and face in a chronic state of untidiness. + Mr. Gray seizes him with an hilarious impulse, and after a number of rapid + journeys to Banbury Cross, in search of an old woman who mounted a + mythical white horse, he kisses the cleanest place on his broad expanse of + cheek, presses some silver into his chubby fist, tells him to be a good + boy, and deposits him in the ditch again. Having in this youthful way + atoned for certain sins of omission a little further back, he proceeds, + with a sense of perfect absolution, on his way to the settlement. + </p> + <p> + A few hours lie between him and his departure, to be employed in friendly + visits to Mrs. Morpher, Dr. Duchesne, M’liss, and her mother. The Mountain + Ranch is nearest, and thither Mr. Gray goes first. Mrs. Morpher, over a + kneading-trough, with her bare arm whitened with flour, is genuinely + grieved at parting with the master, and, in spite of Mr. Gray’s earnest + remonstrances, insists upon conducting him into the chill parlor, leaving + him there until she shall have attired herself in a manner becoming to + “company.” “I don’t want you to go at all—no more I don’t,” says + Mrs. Morpher, with all sincerity, as she seats herself finally on the + shining horsehair sofa. “The children will miss you. I don’t believe that + any one will do for Risty, Kerg, and Clytie what you have done. But I + suppose you know best what’s best. Young men like to see the world, and it + ain’t expected one so young as you should settle down yet. That’s what I + was telling Clytie this morning. That was just the way with my John afore + he was married. I suppose you’ll see M’liss and <i>her</i> before you go. + They say that she is going to San Francisco soon. Is it so?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gray understands the personal pronoun to refer to Mrs. Smith, a title + Mrs. Morpher has never granted M’liss’s mother, for whom she entertains an + instinctive dislike. He answers in the affirmative, however, with the + consciousness of uneasiness under the inquiry; and as the answer does not + seem to please Mrs. Morpher, he is constrained to commend M’liss’s + manifest improvement under her mother’s care. + </p> + <p> + “Well” says Mrs. Morpher, with a significant sigh, “I hope it’s so; but + bless us, where’s Clytie? You mustn’t go without saying ‘good-by’ to her” + and Mrs. Morpher starts away in search of her daughter. + </p> + <p> + The dining-room door scarcely closes before the bedroom door opens, and + Clytie crosses the parlor softly with something in her hands. “You are + going now?” she says hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you take this?” putting a sealed package into his hand, “and keep it + without opening it until”— + </p> + <p> + “Until when, Clytie?” + </p> + <p> + “Until you are married.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gray laughs. + </p> + <p> + “Promise me,” repeats Clytie. + </p> + <p> + “But I may expire in the mean time, through sheer curiosity.” + </p> + <p> + “Promise!” says Clytie gravely. + </p> + <p> + “I promise, then.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gray receives the package. “Good-by,” says Clytie softly. + </p> + <p> + Clytie’s rosy cheek is very near Mr. Gray. There is nobody by. He is going + away. It is the last time. He kisses her just before the door opens again + to Mrs. Morpher. + </p> + <p> + Another shake of hands all around, and Mr. Gray passes out of the Mountain + Ranch forever. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Duchesne’s office is near at hand; but for some reason, that Mr. Gray + cannot entirely explain to himself, he prefers to go to Mrs. Smith’s + first. The little cottage which they have taken temporarily is soon + reached, and as the young man stands at the door he re-knots the bow of + his cravat, and passes his fingers through his curls,—trifles that + to Dr. Duchesne or any other critical, middle-aged person might look bad. + </p> + <p> + M’liss and Mrs. Smith are both at home. They have been waiting for him so + long. Was it that pretty daughter of Mrs. Morpher—the fair young + lady with blond curls,—who caused the detention? Is not Mr. Gray a + sly young fellow for all his seeming frankness? So he must go to-day? He + cannot possibly wait a few days, and go with them? Thus Mrs. Smith, + between her red lips and white teeth, and under her half-closed eyes; for + M’liss stands quietly apart without speaking. Her reserve during the + interview contrasts with the vivacity of her mother as though they had + changed respective places in relationship. Mr. Gray is troubled by this, + and as he rises to go, he takes M’liss’s hand in his. + </p> + <p> + “Have you nothing to say to me before I go?” he asks. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by,” answers M’liss. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing more?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s enough,” rejoins the child simply. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gray bites his lips. “I may never see you again, you know, Melissa,” + he continues. + </p> + <p> + “You will see us again,” says M’liss quietly, raising her great dark eyes + to his. + </p> + <p> + The blood mounted to his cheek and crimsoned his forehead. He was + conscious, too, that the mother’s face had taken fire at his own, as she + walked away toward the window. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, then,” said Mr. Gray pettishly, as he stooped to kiss her. + </p> + <p> + M’liss accepted the salute stoically. Mr. Gray took Mrs. Smith’s hand; her + face had resumed its colorless, satin-like sheen. + </p> + <p> + “M’liss knows the strength of your good will, and makes her calculations + accordingly. I hope she may not be mistaken,” she said, with a languid + tenderness of voice and eye. The young man bent over her outstretched + hand, and withdrew as the Wingdam stage noisily rattled up before the + National Hotel. + </p> + <p> + There was but little time left to spend with Dr. Duchesne, so the + physician walked with him to the stage office. There were a few of the old + settlers lounging by the stage, who had discerned, just as the master was + going away, how much they liked him. Mr. Gray had gone through the + customary bibulous formula of leave-taking; with a hearty shake of the + doctor’s hand, and a promise to write, he climbed to the box of the stage. + “All aboard!” cried the driver, and with a preliminary bound, the stage + rolled down Main Street. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gray remained buried in thought as they rolled through the town, each + object in passing recalling some incident of his past experience. The + stage had reached the outskirts of the settlement when he detected a + well-known little figure running down a by-trail to intersect the road + before the stage had passed. He called the driver’s attention to it, and + as they drew up at the crossing Aristides’s short legs and well-known + features were plainly discernible through the dust. He was holding in his + hand a letter. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my little man, what is it?” said the driver impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “A letter for the master,” gasped the exhausted child. + </p> + <p> + “Give it here!—Any answer?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a moment,” said Mr. Gray. + </p> + <p> + “Look sharp, then, and get your billet duxis before you go next time.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gray hurriedly broke the seal and read these words: + </p> +<div class='pre'> + Judge Plunkett has just returned from the county seat. Our case is + won. We leave here next week. J.S. + + P.S. Have you got my address in San Francisco? +</div> + <p> + “Any answer?” said the driver. + </p> + <p> + “None.” + </p> + <p> + “Get up!” + </p> + <p> + And the stage rolled away from Smith’s Pocket, leaving the just Aristides + standing in the dust of its triumphal wheels. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0137"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + HIGH-WATER MARK + </h2></div> + <p> + When the tide was out on the Dedlow Marsh, its extended dreariness was + patent. Its spongy, low-lying surface, sluggish, inky pools, and tortuous + sloughs, twisting their slimy way, eel-like, toward the open bay, were all + hard facts. So were the few green tussocks, with their scant blades, their + amphibious flavor, and unpleasant dampness. And if you chose to indulge + your fancy,—although the flat monotony of the Dedlow Marsh was not + inspiring,—the wavy line of scattered drift gave an unpleasant + consciousness of the spent waters, and made the dead certainty of the + returning tide a gloomy reflection, which no present sunshine could + dissipate. The greener meadow-land seemed oppressed with this idea, and + made no positive attempt at vegetation until the work of reclamation + should be complete. In the bitter fruit of the low cranberry bushes one + might fancy he detected a naturally sweet disposition curdled and soured + by an injudicious course of too much regular cold water. + </p> + <p> + The vocal expression of the Dedlow Marsh was also melancholy and + depressing. The sepulchral boom of the bittern, the shriek of the curlew, + the scream of passing brant, the wrangling of quarrelsome teal, the sharp + querulous protest of the startled crane, and syllabled complaint of the + “killdeer” plover were beyond the power of written expression. Nor was the + aspect of these mournful fowls at all cheerful and inspiring. Certainly + not the blue heron, standing midleg deep in the water, obviously catching + cold in a reckless disregard of wet feet and consequences; nor the + mournful curlew, the dejected plover, or the low-spirited snipe, who saw + fit to join him in his suicidal contemplation; nor the impassive + kingfisher—an ornithological Marius—reviewing the desolate + expanse; nor the black raven that went to and fro over the face of the + marsh continually, but evidently couldn’t make up his mind whether the + waters had subsided, and felt low-spirited in the reflection that after + all this trouble he wouldn’t be able to give a definite answer. On the + contrary, it was evident at a glance that the dreary expanse of Dedlow + Marsh told unpleasantly on the birds, and that the season of migration was + looked forward to with a feeling of relief and satisfaction by the full + grown, and of extravagant anticipation by the callow brood. But if Dedlow + Marsh was cheerless at the slack of the low tide, you should have seen it + when the tide was strong and full. When the damp air blew chilly over the + cold glittering expanse, and came to the faces of those who looked seaward + like another tide; when a steel-like glint marked the low hollows and the + sinuous line of slough; when the great shell-incrusted trunks of fallen + trees arose again, and went forth on their dreary purposeless wanderings, + drifting hither and thither, but getting no farther toward any goal at the + falling tide or the day’s decline than the cursed Hebrew in the legend; + when the glossy ducks swung silently, making neither ripple nor furrow on + the shimmering surface; when the fog came in with the tide and shut out + the blue above, even as the green below had been obliterated; when + boatmen, lost in that fog, paddling about in a hopeless way, started at + what seemed the brushing of mermen’s fingers on the boat’s keel, or shrank + from the tufts of grass spreading around like the floating hair of a + corpse, and knew by these signs that they were lost upon Dedlow Marsh, and + must make a night of it, and a gloomy one at that,—then you might + know something of Dedlow Marsh at high water. + </p> + <p> + Let me recall a story connected with this latter view which never failed + to recur to my mind in my long gunning excursions upon Dedlow Marsh. + Although the event was briefly recorded in the county paper, I had the + story, in all its eloquent detail, from the lips of the principal actor. I + cannot hope to catch the varying emphasis and peculiar coloring of + feminine delineation, for my narrator was a woman; but I’ll try to give at + least its substance. + </p> + <p> + She lived midway of the great slough of Dedlow Marsh and a good-sized + river, which debouched four miles beyond into an estuary formed by the + Pacific Ocean, on the long sandy peninsula which constituted the + southwestern boundary of a noble bay. The house in which she lived was a + small frame cabin raised from the marsh a few feet by stout piles, and was + three miles distant from the settlements upon the river. Her husband was a + logger,—a profitable business in a county where the principal + occupation was the manufacture of lumber. + </p> + <p> + It was the season of early spring, when her husband left on the ebb of a + high tide with a raft of logs for the usual transportation to the lower + end of the bay. As she stood by the door of the little cabin when the + voyagers departed, she noticed a cold look in the southeastern sky, and + she remembered hearing her husband say to his companions that they must + endeavor to complete their voyage before the coming of the southwesterly + gale which he saw brewing. And that night it began to storm and blow + harder than she had ever before experienced, and some great trees fell in + the forest by the river, and the house rocked like her baby’s cradle. + </p> + <p> + But however the storm might roar about the little cabin, she knew that one + she trusted had driven bolt and bar with his own strong hand, and that had + he feared for her he would not have left her. This, and her domestic + duties, and the care of her little sickly baby, helped to keep her mind + from dwelling on the weather, except, of course, to hope that he was + safely harbored with the logs at Utopia in the dreary distance. But she + noticed that day, when she went out to feed the chickens and look after + the cow, that the tide was up to the little fence of their garden patch, + and the roar of the surf on the south beach, though miles away, she could + hear distinctly. And she began to think that she would like to have some + one to talk with about matters, and she believed that if it had not been + so far and so stormy, and the trail so impassable, she would have taken + the baby and have gone over to Ryekman’s, her nearest neighbor. But then, + you see, he might have returned in the storm, all wet, with no one to see + to him; and it was a long exposure for baby, who was croupy and ailing. + </p> + <p> + But that night, she never could tell why, she didn’t feel like sleeping or + even lying down. The storm had somewhat abated, but she still “sat and + sat,” and even tried to read. I don’t know whether it was a Bible or some + profane magazine that this poor woman read, but most probably the latter, + for the words all ran together and made such sad nonsense that she was + forced at last to put the book down and turn to that dearer volume which + lay before her in the cradle, with its white initial leaf as yet unsoiled, + and try to look forward to its mysterious future. And, rocking the cradle, + she thought of everything and everybody, but still was wide awake as ever. + </p> + <p> + It was nearly twelve o’clock when she at last lay down in her clothes. How + long she slept she could not remember, but she awoke with a dreadful + choking in her throat, and found herself standing, trembling all over, in + the middle of the room, with her baby clasped to her breast, and she was + “saying something.” The baby cried and sobbed, and she walked up and down + trying to hush it, when she heard a scratching at the door. She opened it + fearfully, and was glad to see it was only old Pete, their dog, who + crawled, dripping with water, into the room. She would have liked to look + out, not in the faint hope of her husband’s coming, but to see how things + looked; but the wind shook the door so savagely that she could hardly hold + it. Then she sat down a little while, and then walked up and down a little + while, and then she lay down again a little while. Lying close by the wall + of the little cabin, she thought she heard once or twice something scrape + slowly against the clapboards, like the scraping of branches. Then there + was a little gurgling sound, “like the baby made when it was swallowing;” + then something went “click-click” and “cluck-cluck,” so that she sat up in + bed. When she did so she was attracted by something else that seemed + creeping from the back door toward the centre of the room. It wasn’t much + wider than her little finger, but soon it swelled to the width of her + hand, and began spreading all over the floor. It was water! + </p> + <p> + She ran to the front door and threw it wide open, and saw nothing but + water. She ran to the back door and threw it open, and saw nothing but + water. She ran to the side window, and throwing that open, she saw nothing + but water. Then she remembered hearing her husband once say that there was + no danger in the tide, for that fell regularly, and people could calculate + on it, and that he would rather live near the bay than the river, whose + banks might overflow at any time. But was it the tide? So she ran again to + the back door, and threw out a stick of wood. It drifted away towards the + bay. She scooped up some of the water and put it eagerly to her lips. It + was fresh and sweet. It was the river, and not the tide! + </p> + <p> + It was then—oh, God be praised for his goodness! she did neither + faint nor fall; it was then—blessed be the Saviour, for it was his + merciful hand that touched and strengthened her in this awful moment—that + fear dropped from her like a garment, and her trembling ceased. It was + then and thereafter that she never lost her self-command, through all the + trials of that gloomy night. + </p> + <p> + She drew the bedstead toward the middle of the room, and placed a table + upon it, and on that she put the cradle. The water on the floor was + already over her ankles, and the house once or twice moved so perceptibly, + and seemed to be racked so, that the closet doors all flew open. Then she + heard the same rasping and thumping against the wall, and, looking out, + saw that a large uprooted tree, which had lain near the road at the upper + end of the pasture, had floated down to the house. Luckily its long roots + dragged in the soil and kept it from moving as rapidly as the current, for + had it struck the house in its full career, even the strong nails and + bolts in the piles could not have withstood the shock. The hound had + leaped upon its knotty surface, and crouched near the roots, shivering and + whining. A ray of hope flashed across her mind. She drew a heavy blanket + from the bed, and, wrapping it about the babe, waded in the deepening + waters to the door. As the tree swung again, broadside on, making the + little cabin creak and tremble, she leaped on to its trunk. By God’s mercy + she succeeded in obtaining a footing on its slippery surface, and, twining + an arm about its roots, she held in the other her moaning child. Then + something cracked near the front porch, and the whole front of the house + she had just quitted fell forward,—just as cattle fall on their + knees before they lie down,—and at the same moment the great redwood + tree swung round and drifted away with its living cargo into the black + night. + </p> + <p> + For all the excitement and danger, for all her soothing of her crying + babe, for all the whistling of the wind, for all the uncertainty of her + situation, she still turned to look at the deserted and water-swept cabin. + She remembered even then, and she wondered how foolish she was to think of + it at that time, that she wished she had put on another dress and the + baby’s best clothes; and she kept praying that the house would be spared + so that he, when he returned, would have something to come to, and it + wouldn’t be quite so desolate, and—how could he ever know what had + become of her and baby? And at the thought she grew sick and faint. But + she had something else to do besides worrying, for whenever the long roots + of her ark struck an obstacle the whole trunk made half a revolution, and + twice dipped her in the black water. The hound, who kept distracting her + by running up and down the tree and howling, at last fell off at one of + these collisions. He swam for some time beside her, and she tried to get + the poor beast upon the tree, but he “acted silly” and wild, and at last + she lost sight of him forever. Then she and her baby were left alone. The + light which had burned for a few minutes in the deserted cabin was + quenched suddenly. She could not then tell whither she was drifting. The + outline of the white dunes on the peninsula showed dimly ahead, and she + judged the tree was moving in a line with the river. It must be about + slack water, and she had probably reached the eddy formed by the + confluence of the tide and the overflowing waters of the river. Unless the + tide fell soon, there was present danger of her drifting to its channel, + and being carried out to sea or crushed in the floating drift. That peril + averted, if she were carried out on the ebb toward the bay, she might hope + to strike one of the wooded promontories of the peninsula, and rest till + daylight. Sometimes she thought she heard voices and shouts from the + river, and the bellowing of cattle and bleating of sheep. Then again it + was only the ringing in her ears and throbbing of her heart. She found at + about this time that she was so chilled and stiffened in her cramped + position that she could scarcely move, and the baby cried so when she put + it to her breast that she noticed the milk refused to flow; and she was so + frightened at that that she put her head under her shawl, and for the + first time cried bitterly. + </p> + <p> + When she raised her head again the boom of the surf was behind her, and + she knew that her ark had again swung round. She dipped up the water to + cool her parched throat, and found that it was salt as her tears. There + was a relief, though, for by this sign she knew that she was drifting with + the tide. It was then the wind went down, and the great and awful silence + oppressed her. There was scarcely a ripple against the furrowed sides of + the great trunk on which she rested, and around her all was black gloom + and quiet. She spoke to the baby just to hear herself speak, and to know + that she had not lost her voice. She thought then—it was queer, but + she could not help thinking it—how awful must have been the night + when the great ship swung over the Asiatic peak, and the sounds of + creation were blotted out from the world. She thought, too, of mariners + clinging to spars, and of poor women who were lashed to rafts and beaten + to death by the cruel sea. She tried to thank God that she was thus + spared, and lifted her eyes from the baby who had fallen into a fretful + sleep. Suddenly, away to the southward, a great light lifted itself out of + the gloom, and flashed and flickered, and flickered and flashed again. Her + heart fluttered quickly against the baby’s cold cheek. It was the + lighthouse at the entrance of the bay. As she was yet wondering the tree + suddenly rolled a little, dragged a little, and then seemed to lie quiet + and still. She put out her hand and the current gurgled against it. The + tree was aground, and, by the position of the light and the noise of the + surf, aground upon the Dedlow Marsh. + </p> + <p> + Had it not been for her baby, who was ailing and croupy, had it not been + for the sudden drying up of that sensitive fountain, she would have felt + safe and relieved. Perhaps it was this which tended to make all her + impressions mournful and gloomy. As the tide rapidly fell, a great flock + of black brant fluttered by her, screaming and crying. Then the plover + flew up and piped mournfully as they wheeled around the trunk, and at last + fearlessly lit upon it like a gray cloud. Then the heron flew over and + around her, shrieking and protesting, and at last dropped its gaunt legs + only a few yards from her. But, strangest of all, a pretty white bird, + larger than a dove,—like a pelican, but not a pelican,—circled + around and around her. At last it lit upon a rootlet of the tree quite + over her shoulder. She put out her hand and stroked its beautiful white + neck, and it never appeared to move. It stayed there so long that she + thought she would lift up the baby to see it and try to attract her + attention. But when she did so, the child was so chilled and cold, and had + such a blue look under the little lashes, which it didn’t raise at all, + that she screamed aloud, and the bird flew away, and she fainted. + </p> + <p> + Well, that was the worst of it, and perhaps it was not so much, after all, + to any but herself. For when she recovered her senses it was bright + sunlight and dead low water. There was a confused noise of guttural voices + about her, and an old squaw, singing an Indian “hushaby,” and rocking + herself from side to side before a fire built on the marsh, before which + she, the recovered wife and mother, lay weak and weary. Her first thought + was for her baby, and she was about to speak when a young squaw, who must + have been a mother herself, fathomed her thought and brought her the + “mowitch,” pale but living, in such a queer little willow cradle, all + bound up, just like the squaw’s own young one, that she laughed and cried + together, and the young squaw and the old squaw showed their big white + teeth and glinted their black eyes, and said, “Plenty get well, skeena + mowitch,” “Wagee man come plenty soon,” and she could have kissed their + brown faces in her joy. And then she found that they had been gathering + berries on the marsh in their queer comical baskets, and saw the skirt of + her gown fluttering on the tree from afar, and the old squaw couldn’t + resist the temptation of procuring a new garment, and came down and + discovered the “wagee” woman and child. And of course she gave the garment + to the old squaw, as you may imagine, and when <i>he</i> came at last and + rushed up to her, looking about ten years older in his anxiety, she felt + so faint again that they had to carry her to the canoe. For, you see, he + knew nothing about the flood until he met the Indians at Utopia, and knew + by the signs that the poor woman was his wife. And at the next high tide + he towed the tree away back home, although it wasn’t worth the trouble, + and built another house, using the old tree for the foundation and props, + and called it after her, “Mary’s Ark!” But you may guess the next house + was built above high-water mark. And that’s all. + </p> + <p> + Not much, perhaps, considering the malevolent capacity of the Dedlow + Marsh. But you must tramp over it at low water, or paddle over it at high + tide, or get lost upon it once or twice in the fog, as I have, to + understand properly Mary’s adventure, or to appreciate duly the blessings + of living beyond high-water mark. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0138"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + A LONELY RIDE + </h2></div> + <p> + As I stepped into the Slumgullion stage I saw that it was a dark night, a + lonely road, and that I was the only passenger. Let me assure the reader + that I have no ulterior design in making this assertion. A long course of + light reading has forewarned me what every experienced intelligence must + confidently look for from such a statement. The story-teller who willfully + tempts fate by such obvious beginnings, who is to the expectant reader in + danger of being robbed or half-murdered, or frightened by an escaped + lunatic, or introduced to his lady-love for the first time, deserves to be + detected. I am relieved to say that none of these things occurred to me. + The road from Wingdam to Slumgullion knew no other banditti than the + regularly licensed hotel-keepers; lunatics had not yet reached such depth + of imbecility as to ride of their own free will in Californian stages; and + my Laura, amiable and long-suffering as she always is, could not, I fear, + have borne up against these depressing circumstances long enough to have + made the slightest impression on me. + </p> + <p> + I stood with my shawl and carpetbag in hand, gazing doubtingly on the + vehicle. Even in the darkness the red dust of Wingdam was visible on its + roof and sides, and the red slime of Slumgullion clung tenaciously to its + wheels. I opened the door; the stage creaked uneasily, and in the gloomy + abyss the swaying straps beckoned me, like ghostly hands, to come in now, + and have my sufferings out at once. + </p> + <p> + I must not omit to mention the occurrence of a circumstance which struck + me as appalling and mysterious. A lounger on the steps of the hotel, who I + had reason to suppose was not in any way connected with the stage company, + gravely descended, and, walking toward the conveyance, tried the handle of + the door, opened it, expectorated in the carriage, and returned to the + hotel with a serious demeanor. Hardly had he resumed his position, when + another individual, equally disinterested, impassively walked down the + steps, proceeded to the back of the stage, lifted it, expectorated + carefully on the axle, and returned slowly and pensively to the hotel. A + third spectator wearily disengaged himself from one of the Ionic columns + of the portico and walked to the box, remained for a moment in serious and + expectorative contemplation of the boot, and then returned to his column. + There was something so weird in this baptism that I grew quite nervous. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps I was out of spirits. A number of infinitesimal annoyances, + winding up with the resolute persistency of the clerk at the stage office + to enter my name misspelt on the way-bill, had not predisposed me to + cheerfulness. The inmates of the Eureka House, from a social view-point, + were not attractive. There was the prevailing opinion—so common to + many honest people—that a serious style of deportment and conduct + toward a stranger indicates high gentility and elevated station. Obeying + this principle, all hilarity ceased on my entrance to supper, and general + remark merged into the safer and uncompromising chronicle of several bad + cases of diphtheria, then epidemic at Wingdam. When I left the + dining-room, with an odd feeling that I had been supping exclusively on + mustard and tea leaves, I stopped a moment at the parlor door. A piano, + harmoniously related to the dinner-bell, tinkled responsive to a diffident + and uncertain touch. On the white wall the shadow of an old and sharp + profile was bending over several symmetrical and shadowy curls. “I sez to + Mariar, ‘Mariar’ sez I, ‘praise to the face is open disgrace’” I heard no + more. Dreading some susceptibility to sincere expression on the subject of + female loveliness, I walked away, checking the compliment that otherwise + might have risen unbidden to my lips, and have brought shame and sorrow to + the household. + </p> + <p> + It was with the memory of these experiences resting heavily upon me that I + stood hesitatingly before the stage door. The driver, about to mount, was + for a moment illuminated by the open door of the hotel. He had the wearied + look which was the distinguishing expression of Wingdam. Satisfied that I + was properly way-billed and receipted for, he took no further notice of + me. I looked longingly at the box-seat, but he did not respond to the + appeal. I flung my carpetbag into the chasm, dived recklessly after it, + and—before I was fairly seated—with a great sigh, a creaking + of unwilling springs, complaining bolts, and harshly expostulating axle, + we moved away. Rather the hotel door slipped behind, the sound of the + piano sank to rest, and the night and its shadows moved solemnly upon us. + </p> + <p> + To say it was dark expressed but faintly the pitchy obscurity that + encompassed the vehicle. The roadside trees were scarcely distinguishable + as deeper masses of shadow; I knew them only by the peculiar sodden odor + that from time to time sluggishly flowed in at the open window as we + rolled by. We proceeded slowly; so leisurely that, leaning from the + carriage, I more than once detected the fragrant sigh of some astonished + cow, whose ruminating repose upon the highway we had ruthlessly disturbed. + But in the darkness our progress, more the guidance of some mysterious + instinct than any apparent volition of our own, gave an indefinable charm + of security to our journey, that a moment’s hesitation or indecision on + the part of the driver would have destroyed. + </p> + <p> + I had indulged a hope that in the empty vehicle I might obtain that rest + so often denied me in its crowded condition. It was a weak delusion. When + I stretched out my limbs it was only to find that the ordinary + conveniences for making several people distinctly uncomfortable were + distributed throughout my individual frame. At last, resting my arms on + the straps, by dint of much gymnastic effort I became sufficiently + composed to be aware of a more refined species of torture. The springs of + the stage, rising and falling regularly, produced a rhythmical beat, which + began to painfully absorb my attention. Slowly this thumping merged into a + senseless echo of the mysterious female of the hotel parlor, and shaped + itself into this awful and benumbing axiom: + “Praise-to-the-face-is-open-disgrace. + Praise-to-the-face-is-open-disgrace.” Inequalities of the road only + quickened its utterance or drawled it to an exasperating length. + </p> + <p> + It was of no use to seriously consider the statement. It was of no use to + except to it indignantly. It was of no use to recall the many instances + where praise to the face had redounded to the everlasting honor of praiser + and bepraised; of no use to dwell sentimentally on modest genius and + courage lifted up and strengthened by open commendation; of no use to + except to the mysterious female,—to picture her as rearing a + thin-blooded generation on selfish and mechanically repeated axioms,—all + this failed to counteract the monotonous repetition of this sentence. + There was nothing to do but to give in, and I was about to accept it + weakly, as we too often treat other illusions of darkness and necessity, + for the time being, when I became aware of some other annoyance that had + been forcing itself upon me for the last few moments. How quiet the driver + was! + </p> + <p> + Was there any driver? Had I any reason to suppose that he was not lying + gagged and bound on the roadside, and the highwayman, with blackened face, + who did the thing so quietly, driving me—whither? The thing is + perfectly feasible. And what is this fancy now being jolted out of me? A + story? It’s of no use to keep it back, particularly in this abysmal + vehicle, and here it comes: I am a marquis—a French marquis; French, + because the peerage is not so well known, and the country is better + adapted to romantic incident—a marquis, because the democratic + reader delights in the nobility. My name is something ligny. I am coming + from Paris to my country-seat at St. Germain. It is a dark night, and I + fall asleep and tell my honest coachman, Andre, not to disturb me, and + dream of an angel. The carriage at last stops at the chateau. It is so + dark that, when I alight, I do not recognize the face of the footman who + holds the carriage-door. But what of that?—peste! I am heavy with + sleep. The same obscurity also hides the old familiar indecencies of the + statues on the terrace; but there is a door, and it opens and shuts behind + me smartly. Then I find myself in a trap, in the presence of the brigand + who has quietly gagged poor Andre and conducted the carriage thither. + There is nothing for me to do, as a gallant French marquis, but to say, + “Parbleu!” draw my rapier, and die valorously! I am found, a week or two + after, outside a deserted cabaret near the barrier, with a hole through my + ruffled linen, and my pockets stripped. No; on second thoughts, I am + rescued,—rescued by the angel I have been dreaming of, who is the + assumed daughter of the brigand, but the real daughter of an intimate + friend. + </p> + <p> + Looking from the window again, in the vain hope of distinguishing the + driver, I found my eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness. I could + see the distant horizon, defined by India-inky woods relieving a lighter + sky. A few stars, widely spaced in this picture, glimmering sadly. I + noticed again the infinite depth of patient sorrow in their serene faces; + and I hope that the Vandal who first applied the flippant “twinkle” to + them may not be driven melancholy mad by their reproachful eyes. I noticed + again the mystic charm of space, that imparts a sense of individual + solitude to each integer of the densest constellation, involving the + smallest star with immeasurable loneliness. Something of this calm and + solitude crept over me, and I dozed in my gloomy cavern. When I awoke the + full moon was rising. Seen from my window, it had an indescribably unreal + and theatrical effect. It was the full moon of Norma—that remarkable + celestial phenomenon which rises so palpably to a hushed audience and a + sublime andante chorus, until the Casta Diva is sung—the “inconstant + moon” that then and thereafter remains fixed in the heavens as though it + were a part of the solar system inaugurated by Joshua. Again the + white-robed Druids filed past me, again I saw that improbable mistletoe + cut from that impossible oak, and again cold chills ran down my back with + the first strain of the recitative. The thumping springs essayed to beat + time, and the private box-like obscurity of the vehicle lent a cheap + enchantment to the view. But it was a vast improvement upon my past + experience, and I hugged the fond delusion. + </p> + <p> + My fears for the driver were dissipated with the rising moon. A familiar + sound had assured me of his presence in the full possession of at least + one of his most important functions. Frequent and full expectoration + convinced me that his lips were as yet not sealed by the gag of + highwaymen, and soothed my anxious ear. With this load lifted from my + mind, and assisted by the mild presence of Diana, who left, as when she + visited Endymion, much of her splendor outside my cavern,—I looked + around the empty vehicle. On the forward seat lay a woman’s hairpin. I + picked it up with an interest that, however, soon abated. There was no + scent of the roses to cling to it still, not even of hair-oil. No bent or + twist in its rigid angles betrayed any trait of its wearer’s character. I + tried to think that it might have been “Mariar’s.” I tried to imagine + that, confining the symmetrical curls of that girl, it might have heard + the soft compliments whispered in her ears which provoked the wrath of the + aged female. But in vain. It was reticent and unswerving in its upright + fidelity, and at last slipped listlessly through my fingers. + </p> + <p> + I had dozed repeatedly,—waked on the threshold of oblivion by + contact with some of the angles of the coach, and feeling that I was + unconsciously assuming, in imitation of a humble insect of my childish + recollection, that spherical shape which could best resist those + impressions, when I perceived that the moon, riding high in the heavens, + had begun to separate the formless masses of the shadowy landscape. Trees + isolated, in clumps, and assemblages, changed places before my window. The + sharp outlines of the distant hills came back as in daylight, but little + softened in the dry, cold, dewless air of a California summer night. I was + wondering how late it was, and thinking that if the horses of the night + traveled as slowly as the team before us, Faustus might have been spared + his agonizing prayer, when a sudden spasm of activity attacked my driver. + A succession of whip-snappings, like a pack of Chinese crackers, broke + from the box before me. The stage leaped forward, and when I could pick + myself from under the seat, a long white building had in some mysterious + way rolled before my window. It must be Slumgullion! As I descended from + the stage I addressed the driver:— + </p> + <p> + “I thought you changed horses on the road?” + </p> + <p> + “So we did. Two hours ago.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s odd. I didn’t notice it.” + </p> + <p> + “Must have been asleep, sir. Hope you had a pleasant nap. Bully place for + a nice quiet snooze, empty stage, sir!” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0139"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT + </h2></div> + <p> + His name was Fagg,—David Fagg. He came to California in ’52 with us, + in the Skyscraper. I don’t think he did it in an adventurous way. He + probably had no other place to go to. When a knot of us young fellows + would recite what splendid opportunities we resigned to go, and how sorry + our friends were to have us leave, and show daguerreotypes and locks of + hair, and talk of Mary and Susan, the man of no account used to sit by and + listen with a pained, mortified expression on his plain face, and say + nothing. I think he had nothing to say. He had no associates, except when + we patronized him; and, in point of fact, he was a good deal of sport to + us. He was always seasick whenever we had a capful of wind. He never got + his sea-legs on either. And I never shall forget how we all laughed when + Eattler took him the piece of pork on a string, and—But you know + that time-honored joke. And then we had such a splendid lark with him. + Miss Fanny Twinkler couldn’t bear the sight of him, and we used to make + Fagg think that she had taken a fancy to him, and sent him little + delicacies and books from the cabin. You ought to have witnessed the rich + scene that took place when he came up, stammering and very sick, to thank + her! Didn’t she flash up grandly, and beautifully, and scornfully? So like + “Medora,” Rattler said,—Rattler knew Byron by heart,—and + wasn’t Old Fagg awfully cut up? But he got over it, and when Rattler fell + sick at Valparaiso, Old Fagg used to nurse him. You see he was a good sort + of fellow, but he lacked manliness and spirit. He had absolutely no idea + of poetry. I’ve seen him sit stolidly by, mending his old clothes, when + Rattler delivered that stirring apostrophe of Byron’s to the ocean. He + asked Rattler once, quite seriously, if he thought Byron was ever seasick. + I don’t remember Rattler’s reply, but I know we all laughed very much, and + I have no doubt it was something good, for Rattler was smart. + </p> + <p> + When the Skyscraper arrived at San Francisco we had a grand “feed.” We + agreed to meet every year and perpetuate the occasion. Of course we didn’t + invite Fagg. Fagg was a steerage passenger, and it was necessary, you see, + now we were ashore, to exercise a little discretion. But Old Fagg, as we + called him,—he was only about twenty-five years old, by the way,—was + the source of immense amusement to us that day. It appeared that he had + conceived the idea that he could walk to Sacramento, and actually started + off afoot. We had a good time, and shook hands with one another all + around, and so parted. Ah, me! only eight years ago, and yet some of those + hands, then clasped in amity, have been clenched at each other, or have + dipped furtively in one another’s pockets. I know that we didn’t dine + together the next year, because young Barker swore he wouldn’t put his + feet under the same mahogany with such a very contemptible scoundrel as + that Mixer; and Nibbles, who borrowed money at Valparaiso of young Stubbs, + who was then a waiter in a restaurant, didn’t like to meet such people. + </p> + <p> + When I bought a number of shares in the Coyote Tunnel at Mugginsville, in + ’54, I thought I’d take a run up there and see it. I stopped at the Empire + Hotel, and after dinner I got a horse and rode round the town and out to + the claim. One of those individuals whom newspaper correspondents call + “our intelligent informant,” and to whom in all small communities the + right of answering questions is tacitly yielded, was quietly pointed out + to me. Habit had enabled him to work and talk at the same time, and he + never pretermitted either. He gave me a history of the claim, and added: + “You see, stranger (he addressed the bank before him), gold is sure to + come outer that theer claim (he put in a comma with his pick), but the old + pro-pri-e-tor (he wriggled out the word and the point of his pick) warn’t + of much account (a long stroke of the pick for a period). He was green, + and let the boys about here jump him,”—and the rest of his sentence + was confided to his hat, which he had removed to wipe his manly brow with + his red bandana. + </p> + <p> + I asked him who was the original proprietor. + </p> + <p> + “His name war Fagg.” + </p> + <p> + I went to see him. He looked a little older and plainer. He had worked + hard, he said, and was getting on “so-so.” I took quite a liking to him + and patronized him to some extent. Whether I did so because I was + beginning to have a distrust for such fellows as Rattler and Mixer is not + necessary for me to state. + </p> + <p> + You remember how the Coyote Tunnel went in, and how awfully we + shareholders were done! Well, the next thing I heard was that Rattler, who + was one of the heaviest shareholders, was up at Mugginsville keeping bar + for the proprietor of the Mugginsville Hotel, and that Old Fagg had struck + it rich, and didn’t know what to do with his money. All this was told me + by Mixer, who had been there settling up matters, and likewise that Fagg + was sweet upon the daughter of the proprietor of the aforesaid hotel. And + so by hearsay and letter I eventually gathered that old Robins, the hotel + man, was trying to get up a match between Nellie Robins and Fagg. Nellie + was a pretty, plump, and foolish little thing, and would do just as her + father wished. I thought it would be a good thing for—Fagg if he + should marry and settle down; that as a married man he might be of some + account. So I ran up to Mugginsville one day to look after things. It did + me an immense deal of good to make Rattler mix my drinks for me,—Rattler! + the gay, brilliant, and unconquerable Rattler, who had tried to snub me + two years ago! I talked to him about Old Fagg and Nellie, particularly as + I thought the subject was distasteful. He never liked Fagg, and he was + sure, he said, that Nellie didn’t. Did Nellie like anybody else? He + turned round to the mirror behind the bar and brushed up his hair. I + understood the conceited wretch. I thought l’d put Fagg on his guard, and + get him to hurry up matters. I had a long talk with him. You could see by + the way the poor fellow acted that he was badly stuck. He sighed, and + promised to pluck up courage to hurry matters to a crisis. Nellie was a + good girl, and I think had a sort of quiet respect for Old Fagg’s + unobtrusiveness. But her fancy was already taken captive by Rattler’s + superficial qualities, which were obvious and pleasing. I don’t think + Nellie was any worse than you or I. We are more apt to take acquaintances + at their apparent value than their intrinsic worth. It’s less trouble, and + except when we want to trust them, quite as convenient. The difficulty + with women is that their feelings are apt to get interested sooner than + ours, and then, you know, reasoning is out of the question. This is what + Old Fagg would have known had he been of any account. But he wasn’t. So + much the worse for him. + </p> + <p> + It was a few months afterward, and I was sitting in my office when in + walked Old Fagg. I was surprised to see him down, but we talked over the + current topics in that mechanical manner of people who know that they have + something else to say, but are obliged to get at it in that formal way. + After an interval, Fagg in his natural manner said,— + </p> + <p> + “I’m going home!” + </p> + <p> + “Going home?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,—that is, I think I’ll take a trip to the Atlantic States. I + came to see you, as you know I have some little property, and I have + executed a power of attorney for you to manage my affairs. I have some + papers I’d like to leave with you. Will you take charge of them?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said. “But what of Nellie?” + </p> + <p> + His face fell. He tried to smile, and the combination resulted in one of + the most startling and grotesque effects I ever beheld. At length he said,— + </p> + <p> + “I shall not marry Nellie,—that is,”—he seemed to apologize + internally for the positive form of expression,—“I think that I had + better not.” + </p> + <p> + “David Fagg,” I said with sudden severity, “you’re of no account!” + </p> + <p> + To my astonishment, his face brightened. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said he, “that’s it!—I’m of no account! But I always knew it. + You see, I thought Rattler loved that girl as well as I did, and I knew + she liked him better than she did me, and would be happier, I dare say, + with him. But then I knew that old Robins would have preferred me to him, + as I was better off,—and the girl would do as he said,—and, + you see, I thought I was kinder in the way,—and so I left. But,” he + continued, as I was about to interrupt him, “for fear the old man might + object to Rattler, I’ve lent him enough to set him up in business for + himself in Dogtown. A pushing, active, brilliant fellow, you know, like + Rattler can get along, and will soon be in his old position again,—and + you needn’t be hard on him, you know, if he doesn’t. Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + I was too much disgusted with his treatment of that Rattler to be at all + amiable, but as his business was profitable, I promised to attend to it, + and he left. A few weeks passed. The return steamer arrived, and a + terrible incident occupied the papers for days afterwards. People in all + parts of the State conned eagerly the details of an awful shipwreck, and + those who had friends aboard went away by themselves, and read the long + list of the lost under their breath. I read of the gifted, the gallant, + the noble, and loved ones who had perished, and among them I think I was + the first to read the name of David Fagg. For the “man of no account” had + “gone home!” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_NOTE"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD + </h2></div> + <p> + <a id="2H_PART3"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + PART I + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + IN THE FIELD + </div> + <p> + It was near the close of an October day that I began to be disagreeably + conscious of the Sacramento Valley. I had been riding since sunrise, and + my course through the depressing monotony of the long level landscape + affected me more like a dull, dyspeptic dream than a business journey, + performed under that sincerest of natural phenomena,—a California + sky. The recurring stretches of brown and baked fields, the gaping + fissures in the dusty trail, the hard outline of the distant hills, and + the herds of slowly moving cattle, seemed like features of some glittering + stereoscopic picture that never changed. Active exercise might have + removed this feeling, but my horse by some subtle instinct had long since + given up all ambitious effort, and had lapsed into a dogged trot. + </p> + <p> + It was autumn, but not the season suggested to the Atlantic reader under + that title. The sharply defined boundaries of the wet and dry seasons were + prefigured in the clear outlines of the distant hills. In the dry + atmosphere the decay of vegetation was too rapid for the slow hectic which + overtakes an Eastern landscape, or else Nature was too practical for such + thin disguises. She merely turned the Hippocratic face to the spectator, + with the old diagnosis of death in her sharp, contracted features. + </p> + <p> + In the contemplation of such a prospect there was little to excite any but + a morbid fancy. There were no clouds in the flinty blue heavens, and the + setting of the sun was accompanied with as little ostentation as was + consistent with the dryly practical atmosphere. Darkness soon followed, + with a rising wind, which increased as the shadows deepened on the plain. + The fringe of alder by the watercourse began to loom up as I urged my + horse forward. A half-hour’s active spurring brought me to a corral, and a + little beyond a house, so low and broad, it seemed at first sight to be + half buried in the earth. + </p> + <p> + My second impression was that it had grown out of the soil like some + monstrous vegetable, its dreary proportions were so in keeping with the + vast prospect. There were no recesses along its roughly boarded walls for + vagrant and unprofitable shadows to lurk in the daily sunshine. No + projection for the wind by night to grow musical over, to wail, whistle, + or whisper to; only a long wooden shelf containing a chilly-looking tin + basin and a bar of soap. Its uncurtained windows were red with the sinking + sun, as though bloodshot and inflamed from a too long unlidded existence. + The tracks of cattle led to its front door, firmly closed against the + rattling wind. + </p> + <p> + To avoid being confounded with this familiar element, I walked to the rear + of the house, which was connected with a smaller building by a slight + platform. A grizzled, hard-faced old man was standing there, and met my + salutation with a look of inquiry, and, without speaking, led the way to + the principal room. As I entered, four young men who were reclining by the + fire slightly altered their attitudes of perfect repose, but beyond that + betrayed neither curiosity nor interest. A hound started from a dark + corner with a growl, but was immediately kicked by the old man into + obscurity and silenced again. I can’t tell why, but I instantly received + the impression that for a long time the group by the fire had not uttered + a word or moved a muscle. Taking a seat, I briefly stated my business. Was + a United States surveyor. Had come on account of the Espiritu Santo + rancho. Wanted to correct the exterior boundaries of township lines, so as + to connect with the near exteriors of private grants. There had been some + intervention to the old survey by a Mr. Tryan, who had preempted adjacent—“Settled + land warrants,” interrupted the old man. “Ah, yes! land warrants,—and + then this was Mr. Tryan?” + </p> + <p> + I had spoken mechanically, for I was preoccupied in connecting other + public lines with private surveys, as I looked in his face. It was + certainly a hard face, and reminded me of the singular effect of that + mining operation known as “ground sluicing;” the harder lines of + underlying character were exposed, and what were once plastic curves and + soft outlines were obliterated by some powerful agency. + </p> + <p> + There was a dryness in his voice not unlike the prevailing atmosphere of + the valley, as he launched into an ex parte statement of the contest, with + a fluency which, like the wind without, showed frequent and unrestrained + expression. He told me—what I had already learned—that the + boundary line of the old Spanish grant was a creek, described in the loose + phraseology of the deseno as beginning in the valda or skirt of the hill, + its precise location long the subject of litigation. I listened and + answered with little interest, for my mind was still distracted by the + wind which swept violently by the house, as well as by his odd face, which + was again reflected in the resemblance that the silent group by the fire + bore toward him. He was still talking, and the wind was yet blowing, when + my confused attention was aroused by a remark addressed to the recumbent + figures. + </p> + <p> + “Now, then, which on ye’ll see the stranger up the creek to Altascar’s + to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + There was a general movement of opposition in the group, but no decided + answer. + </p> + <p> + “Kin you go, Kerg?” + </p> + <p> + “Who’s to look up stock in Strarberry per-ar-ie?” + </p> + <p> + This seemed to imply a negative, and the old man turned to another + hopeful, who was pulling the fur from a mangy bearskin on which he was + lying, with an expression as though it were somebody’s hair. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Tom, wot’s to hinder you from goin’?” + </p> + <p> + “Mam’s goin’ to Brown’s store at sun-up, and I s’pose I’ve got to pack her + and the baby again.” + </p> + <p> + I think the expression of scorn this unfortunate youth exhibited for the + filial duty into which he had been evidently beguiled was one of the + finest things I had ever seen. + </p> + <p> + “Wise?” + </p> + <p> + Wise deigned no verbal reply, but figuratively thrust a worn and patched + boot into the discourse. The old man flushed quickly. + </p> + <p> + “I told ye to get Brown to give you a pair the last time you war down the + river.” + </p> + <p> + “Said he wouldn’t without an order. Said it was like pulling gum-teeth to + get the money from you even then.” + </p> + <p> + There was a grim smile at this local hit at the old man’s parsimony, and + Wise, who was clearly the privileged wit of the family, sank back in + honorable retirement. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Joe, ef your boots are new, and you aren’t pestered with wimmin and + children, p’r’aps you’ll go,” said Tryan, with a nervous twitching, + intended for a smile, about a mouth not remarkably mirthful. + </p> + <p> + Tom lifted a pair of bushy eyebrows and said shortly,— + </p> + <p> + “Got no saddle.” + </p> + <p> + “Wot’s gone of your saddle?” + </p> + <p> + “Kerg, there!” indicating his brother with a look such as Cain might have + worn at the sacrifice. + </p> + <p> + “You lie!” returned Kerg cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + Tryan sprang to his feet, seizing the chair, flourishing it around his + head and gazing furiously in the hard young faces which fearlessly met his + own. But it was only for a moment; his arm soon dropped by his side, and a + look of hopeless fatality crossed his face. He allowed me to take the + chair from his hand, and I was trying to pacify him by the assurance that + I required no guide, when the irrepressible Wise again lifted his voice— + </p> + <p> + “Theer’s George comin’! Why don’t ye ask him? He’ll go and introduce you + to Don Fernandy’s darter, too, ef you ain’t pertickler.” + </p> + <p> + The laugh which followed this joke, which evidently had some domestic + allusion (the general tendency of rural pleasantry), was followed by a + light step on the platform, and the young man entered. Seeing a stranger + present, he stopped and colored, made a shy salute and colored again, and + then, drawing a box from the corner, sat down, his hands clasped tightly + together and his very handsome bright blue eyes turned frankly on mine. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps I was in a condition to receive the romantic impression he made + upon me, and I took it upon myself to ask his company as guide, and he + cheerfully assented. But some domestic duty called him presently away. + </p> + <p> + The fire gleamed brightly on the hearth, and, no longer resisting the + prevailing influence, I silently watched the spirting flame, listening to + the wind which continually shook the tenement. Besides the one chair, + which had acquired a new importance in my eyes, I presently discovered a + crazy table in one corner, with an inkbottle and pen, the latter in that + greasy state of decomposition peculiar to country taverns and farmhouses. + A goodly array of rifles and double-barreled guns stocked the corner; half + a dozen saddles and blankets lay near, with a mild flavor of the horse + about them. Some deer and bear skins completed the inventory. As I sat + there, with the silent group around me, the shadowy gloom within and the + dominant wind without, I found it difficult to believe I had ever known a + different existence. My profession had often led me to wilder scenes, but + rarely among those whose unrestrained habits and easy unconsciousness made + me feel so lonely and uncomfortable. I shrank closer to myself, not + without grave doubts—which I think occur naturally to people in like + situations—that this was the general rule of humanity, and I was a + solitary and somewhat gratuitous exception. + </p> + <p> + It was a relief when a laconic announcement of supper by a weak-eyed girl + caused a general movement in the family. We walked across the dark + platform, which led to another low-ceiled room. Its entire length was + occupied by a table, at the further end of which a weak-eyed woman was + already taking her repast as she at the same time gave nourishment to a + weak-eyed baby. As the formalities of introduction had been dispensed + with, and as she took no notice of me, I was enabled to slip into a seat + without discomposing or interrupting her. Tryan extemporized a grace, and + the attention of the family became absorbed in bacon, potatoes, and dried + apples. + </p> + <p> + The meal was a sincere one. Gentle gurglings at the upper end of the table + often betrayed the presence of the “wellspring of pleasure.” The + conversation generally referred to the labors of the day, and comparing + notes as to the whereabouts of missing stock. Yet the supper was such a + vast improvement upon the previous intellectual feast, that when a chance + allusion of mine to the business of my visit brought out the elder Tryan, + the interest grew quite exciting. I remember he inveighed bitterly against + the system of ranch-holding by the “Greasers,” as he was pleased to term + the native Californians. As the same ideas have been sometimes advanced + under more pretentious circumstances, they may be worthy of record. + </p> + <p> + “Look at ’em holdin’ the finest grazin’ land that ever lay outer doors? + Whar’s the papers for it? Was it grants? Mighty fine grants,—most of + ’em made arter the ’Merrikans got possession. More fools the ’Merrikans + for lettin’ ’em hold ’em. Wat paid for ’em? ’Merrikan blood and money. + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t they oughter have suthin’ out of their native country? Wot for? + Did they ever improve? Got a lot of yaller-skinned diggers, not so + sensible as niggers, to look arter stock, and they a-sittin’ home and + smokin’. With their gold and silver candlesticks, and missions, and + crucifixens, priests and graven idols, and sich? Them sort things wuren’t + allowed in Mizzoori.” + </p> + <p> + At the mention of improvements I involuntarily lifted my eyes, and met the + half-laughing, half-embarrassed look of George. The act did not escape + detection, and I had at once the satisfaction of seeing that the rest of + the family had formed an offensive alliance against us. + </p> + <p> + “It was agin nater and agin God,” added Tryan. “God never intended gold in + the rocks to be made into heathen candlesticks and crucifixens. That’s why + he sent ’Merrikans here. Nater never intended such a climate for lazy + lopers. She never gi’n six months’ sunshine to be slept and smoked away.” + </p> + <p> + How long he continued, and with what further illustration, I could not + say, for I took an early opportunity to escape to the sitting-room. I was + soon followed by George, who called me to an open door leading to a + smaller room, and pointed to a bed. + </p> + <p> + “You’d better sleep there to-night,” he said; “you’ll be more comfortable, + and I’ll call you early.” + </p> + <p> + I thanked him, and would have asked him several questions which were then + troubling me, but he shyly slipped to the door and vanished. + </p> + <p> + A shadow seemed to fall on the room when he had gone. The “boys” returned, + one by one, and shuffled to their old places. A larger log was thrown on + the fire, and the huge chimney glowed like a furnace, but it did not seem + to melt or subdue a single line of the hard faces that it lit. Half an + hour later, the furs which had served as chairs by day undertook the + nightly office of mattresses, and each received its owner’s full-length + figure. Mr. Tryan had not returned, and I missed George. I sat there + until, wakeful and nervous, I saw the fire fall and shadows mount the + wall. There was no sound but the rushing of the wind and the snoring of + the sleepers. At last, feeling the place insupportable, I seized my hat, + and, opening the door, ran out briskly into the night. + </p> + <p> + The acceleration of my torpid pulse in the keen fight with the wind, whose + violence was almost equal to that of a tornado, and the familiar faces of + the bright stars above me, I felt as a blessed relief. I ran, not knowing + whither, and when I halted, the square outline of the house was lost in + the alder-bushes. An uninterrupted plain stretched before me, like a vast + sea beaten flat by the force of the gale. As I kept on I noticed a slight + elevation toward the horizon, and presently my progress was impeded by the + ascent of an Indian mound. It struck me forcibly as resembling an island + in the sea. Its height gave me a better view of the expanding plain. But + even here I found no rest. The ridiculous interpretation Tryan had given + the climate was somehow sung in my ears and echoed in my throbbing pulse + as, guided by the stars, I sought the house again. + </p> + <p> + But I felt fresher and more natural as I stepped upon the platform. The + door of the lower building was open, and the old man was sitting beside + the table, thumbing the leaves of a Bible with a look in his face as + though he were hunting up prophecies against the “Greaser.” I turned to + enter, but my attention was attracted by a blanketed figure lying beside + the house on the platform. The broad chest heaving with healthy slumber, + and the open, honest face were familiar. It was George, who had given up + his bed to the stranger among his people. I was about to wake him, but he + lay so peaceful and quiet, I felt awed and hushed. And I went to bed with + a pleasant impression of his handsome face and tranquil figure soothing me + to sleep. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + I was awakened the next morning from a sense of lulled repose and grateful + silence by the cheery voice of George, who stood beside my bed + ostentatiously twirling a riata, as if to recall the duties of the day to + my sleep-bewildered eyes. I looked around me. The wind had been magically + laid, and the sun shone warmly through the windows. A dash of cold water, + with an extra chill on, from the tin basin, helped to brighten me. It was + still early, but the family had already breakfasted and dispersed, and a + wagon winding far in the distance showed that the unfortunate Tom had + already “packed” his relatives away. I felt more cheerful,—there are + few troubles Youth cannot distance with the start of a good night’s rest. + After a substantial breakfast, prepared by George, in a few moments we + were mounted and dashing down the plain. + </p> + <p> + We followed the line of alder that defined the creek, now dry and baked + with summer’s heat, but which in winter, George told me, overflowed its + banks. I still retain a vivid impression of that morning’s ride; the + far-off mountains, like silhouettes, against the steel-blue sky; the + crisp, dry air, and the expanding track before me, animated often by the + well-knit figure of George Tryan, musical with jingling spurs and + picturesque with flying riata. He rode a powerful native roan, wild-eyed, + untiring in stride, and unbroken in nature. Alas! the curves of beauty + were concealed by the cumbrous machillas of the Spanish saddle, which + levels all equine distinctions. The single rein lay loosely on the cruel + bit that can gripe and, if need be, crush the jaw it controls. + </p> + <p> + Again the illimitable freedom of the valley rises before me as we again + bear down into sunlit space. Can this be Chu-Chu, staid and respectable + filly of American pedigree,—Chu-Chu, forgetful of plank-roads and + cobble stones, wild with excitement, twinkling her small white feet + beneath me? George laughs out of a cloud of dust, “Give her her head; + don’t you see she likes it?” and Chu-Chu seems to like it, and, whether + bitten by native tarantula into native barbarism or emulous of the roan, + “blood” asserts itself, and in a moment the peaceful servitude of years is + beaten out in the music of her clattering hoofs. The creek widens to a + deep gully. We dive into it and up on the opposite side, carrying a moving + cloud of impalpable powder with us. Cattle are scattered over the plain, + grazing quietly or banded together in vast restless herds. George makes a + wide, indefinite sweep with the riata, as if to include them all in his + vaquero’s loop, and says, “Ours!” + </p> + <p> + “About how many, George?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + “How many?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, p’r’aps three thousand head,” says George, reflecting. “We don’t + know; takes five men to look ’em up and keep run.” + </p> + <p> + “What are they worth?” + </p> + <p> + “About thirty dollars a head.” + </p> + <p> + I make a rapid calculation, and look my astonishment at the laughing + George. Perhaps a recollection of the domestic economy of the Tryan + household is expressed in that look, for George averts his eye and says + apologetically,— + </p> + <p> + “I’ve tried to get the old man to sell and build, but you know he says it + ain’t no use to settle down just yet. We must keep movin’. In fact, he + built the shanty for that purpose, lest titles should fall through, and + we’d have to get up and move stakes farther down,” Suddenly his quick eye + detects some unusual sight in a herd we are passing, and with an + exclamation he puts his roan into the centre of the mass. I follow, or + rather Chu-Chu darts after the roan, and in a few moments we are in the + midst of apparently inextricable horns and hoofs. “Toro!” shouts George, + with vaquero enthusiasm, and the band opens a way for the swinging riata. + I can feel their steaming breaths, and their spume is cast on Chu-Chu’s + quivering flank. + </p> + <p> + Wild, devilish-looking beasts are they; not such shapes as Jove might have + chosen to woo a goddess, nor such as peacefully range the downs of Devon, + but lean and hungry Cassius-like bovines, economically got up to meet the + exigencies of a six-months’ rainless climate, and accustomed to wrestle + with the distracting wind and the blinding dust. + </p> + <p> + “That’s not our brand,” says George; “they’re strange stock,” and he + points to what my scientific eye recognizes as the astrological sign of + Venus deeply seared in the brown flanks of the bull he is chasing. But the + herd are closing round us with low mutterings, and George has again + recourse to the authoritative “Toro,” and with swinging riata divides the + “bossy bucklers” on either side. When we are free, and breathing somewhat + more easily, I venture to ask George if they ever attack any one. + </p> + <p> + “Never horsemen,—sometimes footmen. Not through rage, you know, but + curiosity. They think a man and his horse are one, and if they meet a chap + afoot, they run him down and trample him under hoof, in the pursuit of + knowledge. But,” adds George, “here’s the lower bench of the foothills, + and here’s Altascar’s corral, and that white building you see yonder is + the casa.” + </p> + <p> + A whitewashed wall inclosed a court containing another adobe building, + baked with the solar beams of many summers. Leaving our horses in the + charge of a few peons in the courtyard, who were basking lazily in the + sun, we entered a low doorway, where a deep shadow and an agreeable + coolness fell upon us, as sudden and grateful as a plunge in cool water, + from its contrast with the external glare and heat. In the centre of a + low-ceiled apartment sat an old man with a black silk handkerchief tied + about his head, the few gray hairs that escaped from its folds relieving + his gamboge-colored face. The odor of cigarritos was as incense added to + the cathedral gloom of the building. + </p> + <p> + As Senor Altascar rose with well-bred gravity to receive us, George + advanced with such a heightened color, and such a blending of tenderness + and respect in his manner, that I was touched to the heart by so much + devotion in the careless youth. In fact, my eyes were still dazzled by the + effect of the outer sunshine, and at first I did not see the white teeth + and black eyes of Pepita, who slipped into the corridor as we entered. + </p> + <p> + It was no pleasant matter to disclose particulars of business which would + deprive the old senor of the greater part of that land we had just ridden + over, and I did it with great embarrassment. But he listened calmly,—not + a muscle of his dark face stirring,—and the smoke curling placidly + from his lips showed his regular respiration. When I had finished, he + offered quietly to accompany us to the line of demarcation. George had + meanwhile disappeared, but a suspicious conversation in broken Spanish and + English in the corridor betrayed his vicinity. When he returned again, a + little absent-minded, the old man, by far the coolest and most + self-possessed of the party, extinguished his black silk cap beneath that + stiff, uncomely sombrero which all native Californians affect. A serapa + thrown over his shoulders hinted that he was waiting. Horses are always + ready saddled in Spanish ranchos, and in half an hour from the time of our + arrival we were again loping in the staring sunlight. But not as + cheerfully as before. George and myself were weighed down by restraint, + and Altascar was gravely quiet. To break the silence, and by way of a + consolatory essay, I hinted to him that there might be further + intervention or appeal, but the proffered oil and wine were returned with + a careless shrug of the shoulders and a sententious “Que bueno? Your + courts are always just.” + </p> + <p> + The Indian mound of the previous night’s discovery was a bearing monument + of the new line, and there we halted. We were surprised to find the old + man Tryan waiting us. For the first time during our interview the old + Spaniard seemed moved, and the blood rose in his yellow cheek. I was + anxious to close the scene, and pointed out the corner boundaries as + clearly as my recollection served. + </p> + <p> + “The deputies will be here to-morrow to run the lines from this initial + point, and there will be no further trouble, I believe, gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + Senor Altascar had dismounted and was gathering a few tufts of dried grass + in his hands. George and I exchanged glances. He presently arose from his + stooping posture, and advancing to within a few paces of Joseph Tryan, + said in a voice broken with passion,— + </p> + <p> + “And I, Fernando Jesus Maria Altascar, put you in possession of my land in + the fashion of my country.” + </p> + <p> + He threw a sod to each of the cardinal points. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know your courts, your judges, or your corregidores. Take the + llano!—and take this with it. May the drought seize your cattle till + their tongues hang down as long as those of your lying lawyers! May it be + the curse and torment of your old age, as you and yours have made it of + mine!” + </p> + <p> + We stepped between the principal actors in this scene, which only the + passion of Altascar made tragical, but Tryan, with a humility but ill + concealing his triumph, interrupted,— + </p> + <p> + “Let him curse on. He’ll find ’em coming home to him sooner than the + cattle he has lost through his sloth and pride. The Lord is on the side of + the just, as well as agin all slanderers and revilers.” + </p> + <p> + Altascar but half guessed the meaning of the Missourian, yet sufficiently + to drive from his mind all but the extravagant power of his native + invective. + </p> + <p> + “Stealer of the sacrament! Open not!—open not, I say, your lying + Judas lips to me! Ah! half-breed, with the soul of a coyote!—Car-r-r-ramba!” + With his passion reverberating among the consonants like distant thunder, + he laid his hand upon the mane of his horse as though it had been the gray + locks of his adversary, swung himself into the saddle, and galloped away. + </p> + <p> + George turned to me. + </p> + <p> + “Will you go back with us to-night?” + </p> + <p> + I thought of the cheerless walls, the silent figures by the fire, and the + roaring wind, and hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, good-by.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, George.” + </p> + <p> + Another wring of the hands, and we parted. I had not ridden far, when I + turned and looked back. The wind had risen early that afternoon, and was + already sweeping across the plain. A cloud of dust traveled before it, and + a picturesque figure occasionally emerging therefrom was my last + indistinct impression of George Tryan. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_PART4"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + PART II + </h3> + <div class='ph3'> + IN THE FLOOD + </div> + <p> + Three months after the survey of the Espiritu Santo rancho I was again in + the valley of the Sacramento. But a general and terrible visitation had + erased the memory of that event as completely as I supposed it had + obliterated the boundary monuments I had planted. The great flood of + 1861-62 was at its height when, obeying some indefinite yearning, I took + my carpetbag and embarked for the inundated valley. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing to be seen from the bright cabin windows of the Golden + City but night deepening over the water. The only sound was the pattering + rain, and that had grown monotonous for the past two weeks, and did not + disturb the national gravity of my countrymen as they silently sat around + the cabin stove. Some on errands of relief to friends and relatives wore + anxious faces, and conversed soberly on the one absorbing topic. Others + like myself, attracted by curiosity, listened eagerly to newer details. + But, with that human disposition to seize upon any circumstance that might + give chance event the exaggerated importance of instinct, I was half + conscious of something more than curiosity as an impelling motive. + </p> + <p> + The dripping of rain, the low gurgle of water, and a leaden sky greeted us + the next morning as we lay beside the half-submerged levee of Sacramento. + Here, however, the novelty of boats to convey us to the hotels was an + appeal that was irresistible. I resigned myself to a dripping rubber-cased + mariner called Joe, and wrapping myself in a shining cloak of the like + material, about as suggestive of warmth as court-plaster might have been, + took my seat in the stern sheets of his boat. It was no slight inward + struggle to part from the steamer, that to most of the passengers was the + only visible connecting link between us and the dry and habitable earth, + but we pulled away and entered the city, stemming a rapid current as we + shot the levee. + </p> + <p> + We glided up the long level of K Street,—once a cheerful busy + thoroughfare, now distressing in its silent desolation. The turbid water, + which seemed to meet the horizon edge before us, flowed at right angles in + sluggish rivers through the streets. Nature had revenged herself on the + local taste by disarraying the regular rectangles by huddling houses on + street corners, where they presented abrupt gables to the current, or by + capsizing them in compact ruin. Crafts of all kinds were gliding in and + out of low-arched doorways. The water was over the top of the fences + surrounding well-kept gardens, in the first stories of hotels and private + dwellings, trailing its slime on velvet carpets as well as roughly boarded + floors. And a silence quite as suggestive as the visible desolation was in + the voiceless streets that no longer echoed to carriage-wheel or footfall. + The low ripple of water, the occasional splash of oars, or the warning cry + of boatmen were the few signs of life and habitation. + </p> + <p> + With such scenes before my eyes and such sounds in my ears, as I lie + lazily in the boat, is mingled the song of my gondolier, who sings to the + music of his oars. It is not quite as romantic as his brother of the Lido + might improvise, but my Yankee Giuseppe has the advantage of earnestness + and energy, and gives a graphic description of the terrors of the past + week and of noble deeds of self-sacrifice and devotion, occasionally + pointing out a balcony from which some California Bianca or Laura had been + snatched, half-clothed and famished. Giuseppe is otherwise peculiar, and + refuses the proffered fare, for—am I not a citizen of San Francisco, + which was first to respond to the suffering cry of Sacramento? and is not + he, Giuseppe, a member of the Howard Society? No, Giuseppe is poor, but + cannot take my money. Still, if I must spend it, there is the Howard + Society, and the women and children without food and clothing at the + Agricultural Hall. I thank the generous gondolier, and we go to the Hall,—a + dismal, bleak place, ghastly with the memories of last year’s opulence and + plenty,—and here Giuseppe’s fare is swelled by the stranger’s mite. + But here Giuseppe tells me of the “Relief Boat” which leaves for the + flooded district in the interior, and here, profiting by the lesson he has + taught me, I make the resolve to turn my curiosity to the account of + others, and am accepted of those who go forth to succor and help the + afflicted. Giuseppe takes charge of my carpetbag, and does not part from + me until I stand on the slippery deck of Relief Boat No. 3. + </p> + <p> + An hour later I am in the pilot-house, looking down upon what was once the + channel of a peaceful river. But its banks are only defined by tossing + tufts of willow washed by the long swell that breaks over a vast inland + sea. Stretches of tule land fertilized by its once regular channel, and + dotted by nourishing ranchos, are now cleanly erased. The cultivated + profile of the old landscape had faded. Dotted lines in symmetrical + perspective mark orchards that are buried and chilled in the turbid flood. + The roofs of a few farmhouses are visible, and here and there the smoke + curling from chimneys of half-submerged tenements shows an undaunted life + within. Cattle and sheep are gathered on Indian mounds, waiting the fate + of their companions, whose carcases drift by us or swing in eddies with + the wrecks of barns and outhouses. Wagons are stranded everywhere where + the tide could carry them. As I wipe the moistened glass, I see nothing + but water, pattering on the deck from the lowering clouds, dashing against + the window, dripping from the willows, hissing by the wheels, everywhere + washing, coiling, sapping, hurrying in rapids, or swelling at last into + deeper and vaster lakes, awful in their suggestive quiet and concealment. + </p> + <p> + As day fades into night the monotony of this strange prospect grows + oppressive. I seek the engine-room, and in the company of some of the few + half-drowned sufferers we have already picked up from temporary rafts, I + forget the general aspect of desolation in their individual misery. Later + we meet the San Francisco packet, and transfer a number of our passengers. + From them we learn how inward-bound vessels report to having struck the + well-defined channel of the Sacramento fifty miles beyond the bar. There + is a voluntary contribution taken among the generous travelers for the use + of our afflicted, and we part company with a hearty “God speed” on either + side. But our signal lights are not far distant before a familiar sound + comes back to us,—an indomitable Yankee cheer,—which scatters + the gloom. + </p> + <p> + Our course is altered, and we are steaming over the obliterated banks far + in the interior. Once or twice black objects loom up near us,—the + wrecks of houses floating by. There is a slight rift in the sky towards + the north, and a few bearing stars to guide us over the waste. As we + penetrate into shallower water, it is deemed advisable to divide our party + into smaller boats, and diverge over the submerged prairie. I borrow a + pea-coat of one of the crew, and in that practical disguise am doubtfully + permitted to pass into one of the boats. We give way northerly. It is + quite dark yet, although the rift of cloud has widened. + </p> + <p> + It must have been about three o’clock, and we were lying upon our oars in + an eddy formed by a clump of cottonwood, and the light of the steamer is a + solitary bright star in the distance, when the silence is broken by the + “bow oar”:— + </p> + <p> + “Light ahead.” + </p> + <p> + All eyes are turned in that direction. In a few seconds a twinkling light + appears, shines steadily, and again disappears, as if by the shifting + position of some black object apparently drifting close upon us. + </p> + <p> + “Stern, all!—a steamer!” + </p> + <p> + “Hold hard, there! Steamer be d——d!” is the reply of the coxswain. + “It’s a house, and a big one too.” + </p> + <p> + It is a big one, looming in the starlight like a huge fragment of the + darkness. The light comes from a single candle which shines through a + window as the great shape swings by. Some recollection is drifting back to + me with it, as I listen with beating heart. + </p> + <p> + “There’s some one in it, by heavens! Give way, boys,—lay her + alongside. Handsomely, now! The door’s fastened; try the window; no! + here’s another!” + </p> + <p> + In another moment we are trampling in the water, which washes the floor to + the depth of several inches. It is a large room, at the farther end of + which an old man is sitting, wrapped in a blanket, holding a candle in one + hand, and apparently absorbed in the book he holds with the other. I + spring toward him with an exclamation:— + </p> + <p> + “Joseph Tryan!” + </p> + <p> + He does not move. We gather closer to him, and I lay my hand gently on his + shoulder, and say,— + </p> + <p> + “Look up, old man, look up! Your wife and children, where are they? The + boys,—George! Are they here? are they safe?” + </p> + <p> + He raises his head slowly, and turns his eyes to mine, and we + involuntarily recoil before his look. It is a calm and quiet glance, free + from fear, anger, or pain; but it somehow sends the blood curdling through + our veins. He bowed his head over his book again, taking no further notice + of us. The men look at me compassionately and hold their peace. I make one + more effort:— + </p> + <p> + “Joseph Tryan, don’t you know me—the surveyor who surveyed your + ranch,—the Espiritu Santo? Look up, old man!” + </p> + <p> + He shuddered and wrapped himself closer in his blanket. Presently he + repeated to himself, “The surveyor who surveyed your ranch, Espiritu + Santo,” over and over again, as though it were a lesson he was trying to + fix in his memory. + </p> + <p> + I was turning sadly to the boatmen, when he suddenly caught me fearfully + by the hand, and said:— + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” + </p> + <p> + We were silent. + </p> + <p> + “Listen!” He puts his arm around my neck, and whispers in my ear, “I’m <i>a-moving + off!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Moving off?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! Don’t speak so loud. Moving off! Ah! wot’s that? Don’t you hear?—there!—listen!” + </p> + <p> + We listen, and hear the water gurgle and click beneath the floor. + </p> + <p> + “It’s them wot he sent I—old Altascar sent. They’ve been here all + night. I heard ’em first in the creek, when they came to tell the old man + to move farther off. They came nearer and nearer. They whispered under the + door, and I saw their eyes on the step,—their cruel, hard eyes. Ah! + why don’t they quit?” + </p> + <p> + I tell the men to search the room and see if they can find any farther + traces of the family, while Tryan resumes his old attitude. It is so much + like the figure I remember on the breezy night, that a superstitious + feeling is fast overcoming me. When they have returned, I tell them + briefly what I know of him, and the old man murmurs again,— + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t they quit, then? They have the stock,—all gone—gone,—gone + for the hides and hoofs,” and he groans bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “There are other boats below us. The shanty cannot have drifted far, and + perhaps the family are safe by this time,” says the coxswain hopefully. + </p> + <p> + We lift the old man up, for he is quite helpless, and carry him to the + boat. He is still grasping the Bible in his right hand, though its + strengthening grace is blank to his vacant eye, and he cowers in the stern + as we pull slowly to the steamer, while a pale gleam in the sky shows the + coming day. + </p> + <p> + I was weary with excitement, and when we reached the steamer, and I had + seen Joseph Tryan comfortably bestowed, I wrapped myself in a blanket near + the boiler and presently fell asleep. But even then the figure of the old + man often started before me, and a sense of uneasiness about George made a + strong undercurrent to my drifting dreams. I was awakened at about eight + o’clock in the morning by the engineer, who told me one of the old man’s + sons had been picked up and was now on board. + </p> + <p> + “Is it George Tryan?” I ask quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t know; but he’s a sweet one, whoever he is,” adds the engineer, with + a smile at some luscious remembrance. “You’ll find him for’ard.” + </p> + <p> + I hurry to the bow of the boat, and find not George, but the irrepressible + Wise, sitting on a coil of rope, a little dirtier and rather more + dilapidated than I can remember having seen him. + </p> + <p> + He is examining, with apparent admiration, some rough, dry clothes that + have been put out for his disposal. I cannot help thinking that + circumstances have somewhat exalted his usual cheerfulness. He puts me at + ease by at once addressing me:— + </p> + <p> + “These are high old times, ain’t they? I say, what do you reckon’s become + o’ them thar bound’ry moniments you stuck? Ah!” + </p> + <p> + The pause which succeeds this outburst is the effect of a spasm of + admiration at a pair of high boots, which, by great exertion, he has at + last pulled on his feet. + </p> + <p> + “So you’ve picked up the ole man in the shanty, clean crazy? He must have + been soft to have stuck there instead o’ leavin’ with the old woman. Didn’t + know me from Adam; took me for George!” + </p> + <p> + At this affecting instance of paternal forgetfulness, Wise was evidently + divided between amusement and chagrin. I took advantage of the contending + emotions to ask about George. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t know whar he is! If he’d tended stock instead of running about the + prairie, packin’ off wimmin and children, he might have saved suthin’. He + lost every hoof and hide, I’ll bet a cooky! Say, you,” to a passing + boatman, “when are you goin’ to give us some grub? I’m hungry ’nough to + skin and eat a hoss. Reckon I’ll turn butcher when things is dried up, and + save hides, horns, and taller.” + </p> + <p> + I could not but admire this indomitable energy, which under softer + climatic influences might have borne such goodly fruit. + </p> + <p> + “Have you any idea what you’ll do, Wise?” I ask. + </p> + <p> + “Thar ain’t much to do now,” says the practical young man. “I’ll have to + lay over a spell, I reckon, till things comes straight. The land ain’t + worth much now, and won’t be, I dessay, for some time. Wonder whar the ole + man’ll drive stakes next.” + </p> + <p> + “I meant as to your father and George, Wise.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the ole man and I’ll go on to Miles’s, whar Tom packed the old woman + and babies last week. George’ll turn up somewhar atween this and + Altascar’s, ef he ain’t thar now.” + </p> + <p> + I ask how the Altascars have suffered. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I reckon he ain’t lost much in stock. I shouldn’t wonder if George + helped him drive ’em up the foothills. And his casa’s built too high. Oh, + thar ain’t any water thar, you bet. Ah!” says Wise, with reflective + admiration, “those Greasers ain’t the darned fools people thinks ’em. I’ll + bet thar ain’t one swamped out in all ’er Californy.” But the appearance + of “grub” cut this rhapsody short. + </p> + <p> + “I shall keep on a little farther,” I say, “and try to find George.” + </p> + <p> + Wise stared a moment at this eccentricity until a new light dawned upon + him. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think you’ll save much. What’s the percentage,—workin’ on + shares, eh?” + </p> + <p> + I answer that I am only curious, which I feel lessens his opinion of me, + and with a sadder feeling than his assurance of George’s safety might + warrant, I walked away. + </p> + <p> + From others whom we picked up from time to time we heard of George’s + self-sacrificing devotion, with the praises of the many he had helped and + rescued. But I did not feel disposed to return until I had seen him, and + soon prepared myself to take a boat to the lower valda of the foothills, + and visit Altascar. I soon perfected my arrangements, bade farewell to + Wise, and took a last look at the old man, who was sitting by the furnace + fires quite passive and composed. Then our boat-head swung round, pulled + by sturdy and willing hands. + </p> + <p> + It was again raining, and a disagreeable wind had risen. Our course lay + nearly west, and we soon knew by the strong current that we were in the + creek of the Espiritu Santo. From time to time the wrecks of barns were + seen, and we passed many half-submerged willows hung with farming + implements. + </p> + <p> + We emerge at last into a broad silent sea. It is the llano de Espiritu + Santo. As the wind whistles by me, piling the shallower fresh water into + mimic waves, I go back, in fancy, to the long ride of October over that + boundless plain, and recall the sharp outlines of the distant hills which + are now lost in the lowering clouds. The men are rowing silently, and I + find my mind, released from its tension, growing benumbed and depressed as + then. The water, too, is getting more shallow as we leave the banks of the + creek, and with my hand dipped listlessly over the thwarts, I detect the + tops of chimisal, which shows the tide to have somewhat fallen. There is a + black mound, bearing to the north of the line of alder, making an adverse + current, which, as we sweep to the right to avoid it, I recognize. We pull + close alongside, and I call to the men to stop. + </p> + <p> + There was a stake driven near its summit with the initials, “L. E. S. I.” + Tied halfway down was a curiously worked riata. It was George’s. It had + been cut with some sharp instrument, and the loose gravelly soil of the + mound was deeply dented with horse’s hoofs. The stake was covered with + horsehairs. It was a record, but no clue. + </p> + <p> + The wind had grown more violent, as we still fought our way forward, + resting and rowing by turns, and oftener “poling” the shallower surface, + but the old valda, or bench, is still distant. My recollection of the old + survey enables me to guess the relative position of the meanderings of the + creek, and an occasional simple professional experiment to determine the + distance gives my crew the fullest faith in my ability. Night overtakes us + in our impeded progress. Our condition looks more dangerous than it really + is, but I urge the men, many of whom are still new in this mode of + navigation, to greater exertion by assurance of perfect safety and speedy + relief ahead. We go on in this way until about eight o’clock, and ground + by the willows. We have a muddy walk for a few hundred yards before we + strike a dry trail, and simultaneously the white walls of Altascar’s + appear like a snow-bank before us. Lights are moving in the courtyard; but + otherwise the old tomb-like repose characterizes the building. + </p> + <p> + One of the peons recognized me as I entered the court, and Altascar met me + on the corridor. + </p> + <p> + I was too weak to do more than beg his hospitality for the men who had + dragged wearily with me. He looked at my hand, which still unconsciously + held the broken riata. I began, wearily, to tell him about George and my + fears, but with a gentler courtesy than was even his wont, he gravely laid + his hand on my shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Poco a poco, senor,—not now. You are tired, you have hunger, you + have cold. Necessary it is you should have peace.” + </p> + <p> + He took us into a small room and poured out some French cognac, which he + gave to the men that had accompanied me. They drank, and threw themselves + before the fire in the larger room. The repose of the building was + intensified that night, and I even fancied that the footsteps on the + corridor were lighter and softer. The old Spaniard’s habitual gravity was + deeper; we might have been shut out from the world as well as the + whistling storm, behind those ancient walls with their time-worn + inheritor. + </p> + <p> + Before I could repeat my inquiry he retired. In a few minutes two smoking + dishes of chupa with coffee were placed before us, and my men ate + ravenously. I drank the coffee, but my excitement and weariness kept down + the instincts of hunger. + </p> + <p> + I was sitting sadly by the fire when he reentered. + </p> + <p> + “You have eat?” + </p> + <p> + I said, “Yes,” to please him. + </p> + <p> + “Bueno, eat when you can,—food and appetite are not always.” + </p> + <p> + He said this with that Sancho-like simplicity with which most of his + countrymen utter a proverb, as though it were an experience rather than a + legend, and, taking the riata from the floor, held it almost tenderly + before him. + </p> + <p> + “It was made by me, senor.” + </p> + <p> + “I kept it as a clue to him, Don Altascar,” I said. “If I could find him”— + </p> + <p> + “He is here.” + </p> + <p> + “Here! and”—but I could not say, “well!” I understood the gravity of + the old man’s face, the hushed footfalls, the tomb-like repose of the + building, in an electric flash of consciousness: I held the clue to the + broken riata at last. Altascar took my hand, and we crossed the corridor + to a sombre apartment. A few tall candles were burning in sconces before + the window. + </p> + <p> + In an alcove there was a deep bed with its counterpane, pillows, and + sheets heavily edged with lace, in all that splendid luxury which the + humblest of these strange people lavish upon this single item of their + household. I stepped beside it and saw George lying, as I had seen him one + before, peacefully at rest. But a greater sacrifice than that he had known + was here, and his generous heart was stilled forever. + </p> + <p> + “He was honest and brave,” said the old man, and turned away. + </p> + <p> + There was another figure in the room; a heavy shawl drawn over her + graceful outline, and her long black hair hiding the hands that buried her + downcast face. I did not seem to notice her, and, retiring presently, left + the loving and loved together. + </p> + <p> + When we were again beside the crackling fire, in the shifting shadows of + the great chamber, Altascar told me how he had that morning met the horse + of George Tryan swimming on the prairie; how that, farther on, he found + him lying, quite cold and dead, with no marks or bruises on his person; + that he had probably become exhausted in fording the creek, and that he + had as probably reached the mound only to die for want of that help he had + so freely given to others; that, as a last act, he had freed his horse. + These incidents were corroborated by many who collected in the great + chamber that evening,—women and children,—most of them + succored through the devoted energies of him who lay cold and lifeless + above. + </p> + <p> + He was buried in the Indian mound,—the single spot of strange + perennial greenness, which the poor aborigines had raised above the dusty + plain. A little slab of sandstone with the initials “G. T.” is his + monument, and one of the bearings of the initial corner of the new survey + of the Espiritu Santo rancho. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0143"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + WAITING FOR THE SHIP + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + A FORT POINT IDYL + </div> + <p> + About an hour’s ride from the Plaza there is a high bluff with the ocean + breaking uninterruptedly along its rocky beach. There are several cottages + on the sands, which look as if they had recently been cast up by a heavy + sea. The cultivated patch behind each tenement is fenced in by bamboos, + broken spars, and driftwood. With its few green cabbages and turnip-tops, + each garden looks something like an aquarium with the water turned off. In + fact you would not be surprised to meet a merman digging among the + potatoes, or a mermaid milking a sea-cow hard by. + </p> + <p> + Near this place formerly arose a great semaphoric telegraph, with its + gaunt arms tossed up against the horizon. It has been replaced by an + observatory, connected with an electric nerve to the heart of the great + commercial city. From this point the incoming ships are signaled, and + again checked off at the City Exchange. And while we are here, looking for + the expected steamer, let me tell you a story. + </p> + <p> + Not long ago, a simple, hard-working mechanic had amassed sufficient by + diligent labor in the mines to send home for his wife and two children. He + arrived in San Francisco a month before the time the ship was due, for he + was a Western man, and had made the overland journey, and knew little of + ships or seas or gales. He procured work in the city, but as the time + approached he would go to the shipping office regularly every day. The + month passed, but the ship came not; then a month and a week, two weeks, + three weeks, two months, and then a year. The rough, patient face, with + soft lines overlying its hard features, which had become a daily + apparition at the shipping-agent’s, then disappeared. It turned up one + afternoon at the observatory as the setting sun relieved the operator from + his duties. There was something so childlike and simple in the few + questions asked by this stranger, touching his business, that the operator + spent some time to explain. When the mystery of signals and telegraphs was + unfolded, the stranger had one more question to ask. “How long might a + vessel be absent before they would give up expecting her?” The operator + couldn’t tell; it would depend on circumstances. Would it be a year? Yes, + it might be a year, and vessels had been given up for lost after two years + and had come home. The stranger put his rough hand on the operator’s, and + thanked him for his “troubil,” and went away. + </p> + <p> + Still the ship came not. Stately clippers swept into the Gate, and + merchantmen went by with colors flying, and the welcoming gun of the + steamer often reverberated among the hills. Then the patient face, with + the old resigned expression, but a brighter, wistful look in the eye, was + regularly met on the crowded decks of the steamer as she disembarked her + living freight. He may have had a dimly defined hope that the missing ones + might yet come this way, as only another road over that strange unknown + expanse. But he talked with ship captains and sailors, and even this last + hope seemed to fail. When the careworn face and bright eyes were presented + again at the observatory, the operator, busily engaged, could not spare + time to answer foolish interrogatories, so he went away. But as night + fell, he was seen sitting on the rocks with his face turned seaward, and + was seated there all that night. When he became hopelessly insane, for + that was what the physicians said made his eyes so bright and wistful, he + was cared for by a fellow craftsman who had known his troubles. He was + allowed to indulge his fancy of going out to watch for the ship, in which + she “and the children” were, at night, when no one else was watching. He + had made up his mind that the ship would come in at night. This, and the + idea that he would relieve the operator, who would be tired with watching + all day, seemed to please him. So he went out and relieved the operator + every night! + </p> + <p> + For two years the ships came and went. He was there to see the + outward-bound clipper, and greet her on her return. He was known only by a + few who frequented the place. When he was missed at last from his + accustomed spot, a day or two elapsed before any alarm was felt. One + Sunday, a party of pleasure-seekers clambering over the rocks were + attracted by the barking of a dog that had run on before them. When they + came up they found a plainly dressed man lying there dead. There were a + few papers in his pocket,—chiefly slips cut from different journals + of old marine memoranda,—and his face was turned towards the distant + sea. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0144"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + A NIGHT AT WINGDAM + </h2></div> + <p> + I had been stage-ridden and bewildered all day, and when we swept down + with the darkness into the Arcadian hamlet of Wingdam I resolved to go no + farther, and rolled out in a gloomy and dyspeptic state. The effects of a + mysterious pie, and some sweetened carbonic acid known to the proprietor + of the Half-way House as “lemming sody,” still oppressed me. Even the + facetia of the gallant expressman, who knew everybody’s Christian name + along the route, who rained letters, newspapers, and bundles from the top + of the stage, whose legs frequently appeared in frightful proximity to the + wheels, who got on and off while we were going at full speed, whose + gallantry, energy, and superior knowledge of travel crushed all us other + passengers to envious silence, and who just then was talking with several + persons and manifestly doing something else at the same time,—even + this had failed to interest me. So I stood gloomily, clutching my shawl + and carpetbag, and watched the stage roll away, taking a parting look at + the gallant expressman as he hung on the top rail with one leg, and lit + his cigar from the pipe of a running footman. I then turned toward the + Wingdam Temperance Hotel. + </p> + <p> + It may have been the weather, or it may have been the pie, but I was not + impressed favorably with the house. Perhaps it was the name extending the + whole length of the building, with a letter under each window, making the + people who looked out dreadfully conspicuous. Perhaps it was that + “Temperance” always suggested to my mind rusks and weak tea. It was + uninviting. It might have been called the “Total Abstinence” Hotel, from + the lack of anything to intoxicate or inthrall the senses. It was designed + with an eye to artistic dreariness. It was so much too large for the + settlement that it appeared to be a very slight improvement on outdoors. + It was unpleasantly new. There was the forest flavor of dampness about it, + and a slight spicing of pine. Nature outraged, but not entirely subdued, + sometimes broke out afresh in little round, sticky, resinous tears on the + doors and windows. It seemed to me that boarding there must seem like a + perpetual picnic. As I entered the door, a number of the regular boarders + rushed out of a long room, and set about trying to get the taste of + something out of their mouths, by the application of tobacco in various + forms. A few immediately ranged themselves around the fireplace, with + their legs over each other’s chairs, and in that position silently + resigned themselves to indigestion. Remembering the pie, I waived the + invitation of the landlord to supper, but suffered myself to be conducted + into the sitting-room. “Mine host” was a magnificent-looking, heavily + bearded specimen of the animal man. He reminded me of somebody or + something connected with the drama. I was sitting beside the fire, mutely + wondering what it could be, and trying to follow the particular chord of + memory thus touched into the intricate past, when a little + delicate-looking woman appeared at the door, and, leaning heavily against + the casing, said in an exhausted tone, “Husband!” As the landlord turned + toward her, that particular remembrance flashed before me in a single line + of blank verse. It was this: “Two souls with but one single thought, two + hearts that beat as one.” + </p> + <p> + It was Ingomar and Parthenia his wife. I imagined a different denouement + from the play. Ingomar had taken Parthenia back to the mountains, and kept + a hotel for the benefit of the Alemanni, who resorted there in large + numbers. Poor Parthenia was pretty well fagged out, and did all the work + without “help.” She had two “young barbarians,” a boy and a girl. She was + faded, but still good-looking. + </p> + <p> + I sat and talked with Ingomar, who seemed perfectly at home, and told me + several stories of the Alemanni, all bearing a strong flavor of the + wilderness, and being perfectly in keeping with the house. How he, + Ingomar, had killed a certain dreadful “b’ar,” whose skin was just up + “yar,” over his bed. How he, Ingomar, had killed several “bucks,” whose + skins had been prettily fringed and embroidered by Parthenia, and even now + clothed him. How he, Ingomar, had killed several “Injins,” and was once + nearly scalped himself. All this with that ingenious candor which is + perfectly justifiable in a barbarian, but which a Greek might feel + inclined to look upon as “blowing.” Thinking of the wearied Parthenia, I + began to consider for the first time that perhaps she had better married + the old Greek. Then she would at least have always looked neat. Then she + would not have worn a woolen dress flavored with all the dinners of the + past year. Then she would not have been obliged to wait on the table with + her hair half down. Then the two children would not have hung about her + skirts with dirty fingers, palpably dragging her down day by day. I + suppose it was the pie which put such heartless and improper ideas in my + head, and so I rose up and told Ingomar I believed I’d go to bed. Preceded + by that redoubtable barbarian and a flaring tallow candle, I followed him + upstairs to my room. It was the only single room he had, he told me; he + had built it for the convenience of married parties who might stop here, + but, that event not happening yet, he had left it half furnished. It had + cloth on one side, and large cracks on the other. The wind, which always + swept over Wingdam at night-time, puffed through the apartment from + different apertures. The window was too small for the hole in the side of + the house where it hung, and rattled noisily. Everything looked cheerless + and dispiriting. Before Ingomar left me, he brought that “b’arskin,” and + throwing it over the solemn bier which stood in one corner, told me he + reckoned that would keep me warm, and then bade me good-night. I undressed + myself, the light blowing out in the middle of that ceremony, crawled + under the “b’arskin,” and tried to compose myself to sleep. + </p> + <p> + But I was staringly wide awake. I heard the wind sweep down the + mountain-side, and toss the branches of the melancholy pine, and then + enter the house, and try all the doors along the passage. Sometimes strong + currents of air blew my hair all over the pillow, as with strange + whispering breaths. The green timber along the walls seemed to be + sprouting, and sent a dampness even through the “b’arskin.” I felt like + Robinson Crusoe in his tree, with the ladder pulled up,—or like the + rocked baby of the nursery song. After lying awake half an hour, I + regretted having stopped at Wingdam; at the end of the third quarter, I + wished I had not gone to bed; and when a restless hour passed, I got up + and dressed myself. There had been a fire down in the big room. Perhaps it + was still burning. I opened the door and groped my way along the passage, + vocal with the snores of the Alemanni and the whistling of the night wind; + I partly fell downstairs, and at last entering the big room, saw the fire + still burning. I drew a chair toward it, poked it with my foot, and was + astonished to see, by the upspringing flash, that Parthenia was sitting + there also, holding a faded-looking baby. + </p> + <p> + I asked her why she was sitting up. + </p> + <p> + “She did not go to bed on Wednesday night before the mail arrived, and + then she awoke her husband, and there were passengers to ’tend to.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she not get tired sometimes?” + </p> + <p> + “A little, but Abner” (the barbarian’s Christian name) “had promised to + get her more help next spring, if business was good.” + </p> + <p> + “How many boarders had she?” + </p> + <p> + “She believed about forty came to regular meals, and there was transient + custom, which was as much as she and her husband could ’tend to. But <i>he</i> + did a great deal of work.” + </p> + <p> + “What work?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bringing in the wood, and looking after the traders’ things.” + </p> + <p> + “How long had she been married?” + </p> + <p> + “About nine years. She had lost a little girl and boy. Three children + living. <i>He</i> was from Illinois. She from Boston. Had an education + (Boston Female High School,—Geometry, Algebra, a little Latin and + Greek). Mother and father died. Came to Illinois alone, to teach school. + Saw <i>him</i>—yes—a love match.” (“Two souls,” etc., etc.) + “Married and emigrated to Kansas. Thence across the Plains to California. + Always on the outskirts of civilization. <i>He</i> liked it. + </p> + <p> + “She might sometimes have wished to go home. Would like to on account of + her children. Would like to give them an education. Had taught them a + little herself, but couldn’t do much on account of other work. Hoped that + the boy would be like his father, strong and hearty. Was fearful the girl + would be more like her. Had often thought she was not fit for a pioneer’s + wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she was not strong enough, and had seen some of his friends’ wives in + Kansas who could do more work. But he never complained,—he was so + kind.” (“Two souls,” etc.) + </p> + <p> + Sitting there with her head leaning pensively on one hand, holding the + poor, wearied, and limp-looking baby wearily on the other arm, dirty, + drabbled, and forlorn, with the firelight playing upon her features no + longer fresh or young, but still refined and delicate, and even in her + grotesque slovenliness still bearing a faint reminiscence of birth and + breeding, it was not to be wondered that I did not fall into excessive + raptures over the barbarian’s kindness. Emboldened by my sympathy, she + told me how she had given up, little by little, what she imagined to be + the weakness of her early education, until she found that she acquired but + little strength in her new experience. How, translated to a backwoods + society, she was hated by the women, and called proud and “fine,” and how + her dear husband lost popularity on that account with his fellows. How, + led partly by his roving instincts, and partly from other circumstances, + he started with her to California. An account of that tedious journey. How + it was a dreary, dreary waste in her memory, only a blank plain marked by + a little cairn of stones,—a child’s grave. How she had noticed that + little Willie failed. How she had called Abner’s attention to it, but, + man-like, he knew nothing about children, and pooh-poohed it, and was + worried by the stock. How it happened that after they had passed + Sweetwater she was walking beside the wagon one night, and looking at the + western sky, and she heard a little voice say “Mother.” How she looked + into the wagon and saw that little Willie was sleeping comfortably and did + not wish to wake him. How that in a few moments more she heard the same + voice saying “Mother.” How she came back to the wagon and leaned down over + him, and felt his breath upon her face, and again covered him up tenderly, + and once more resumed her weary journey beside him, praying to God for his + recovery. How with her face turned to the sky she heard the same voice + saying “Mother,” and directly a great bright star shot away from its + brethren and expired. And how she knew what had happened, and ran to the + wagon again only to pillow a little pinched and cold white face upon her + weary bosom. The thin red hands went up to her eyes here, and for a few + moments she sat still. The wind tore round the house and made a frantic + rush at the front door, and from his couch of skins in the inner room + Ingomar, the barbarian, snored peacefully. + </p> + <p> + “Of course she always found a protector from insult and outrage in the + great courage and strength of her husband?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; when Ingomar was with her she feared nothing. But she was + nervous and had been frightened once!” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “They had just arrived in California. They kept house then, and had to + sell liquor to traders. Ingomar was hospitable, and drank with everybody, + for the sake of popularity and business, and Ingomar got to like liquor, + and was easily affected by it. And how one night there was a boisterous + crowd in the bar-room; she went in and tried to get him away, but only + succeeded in awakening the coarse gallantry of the half-crazed revelers. + And how, when she had at last got him in the room with her frightened + children, he sank down on the bed in a stupor, which made her think the + liquor was drugged. And how she sat beside him all night, and near morning + heard a step in the passage, and, looking toward the door, saw the latch + slowly moving up and down, as if somebody were trying it. And how she + shook her husband, and tried to waken him, but without effect. And how at + last the door yielded slowly at the top (it was bolted below), as if by a + gradual pressure without; and how a hand protruded through the opening. + And how as quick as lightning she nailed that hand to the wall with her + scissors (her only weapon), but the point broke, and somebody got away + with a fearful oath. How she never told her husband of it, for fear he + would kill that somebody; but how on one day a stranger called here, and + as she was handing him his coffee, she saw a queer triangular scar on the + back of his hand.” She was still talking, and the wind was still blowing, + and Ingomar was still snoring from his couch of skins, when there was a + shout high up the straggling street, and a clattering of hoofs and + rattling of wheels. The mail had arrived. Parthenia ran with the faded + baby to awaken Ingomar, and almost simultaneously the gallant expressman + stood again before me, addressing me by my Christian name, and invited me + to drink out of a mysterious black bottle. The horses were speedily + watered, and the business of the gallant expressman concluded, and, + bidding Parthenia good by, I got on the stage, and immediately fell + asleep, and dreamt of calling on Parthenia and Ingomar, and being treated + with pie to an unlimited extent, until I woke up the next morning in + Sacramento. I have some doubts as to whether all this was not a dyspeptic + dream, but I never witness the drama, and hear that noble sentiment + concerning “Two souls,” etc., without thinking of Wingdam and poor + Parthenia. + </p> + <hr /> +<div class='pre'> + SPANISH AND AMERICAN LEGENDS +</div> + <hr /> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0145"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO + </h2></div> + <p> + The cautious reader will detect a lack of authenticity in the following + pages. I am not a cautious reader myself, yet I confess with some concern + to the absence of much documentary evidence in support of the singular + incident I am about to relate. Disjointed memoranda, the proceedings of + ayuntamientos and early departmental juntas, with other records of a + primitive and superstitious people, have been my inadequate authorities. + It is but just to state, however, that though this particular story lacks + corroboration, in ransacking the Spanish archives of Upper California I + have met with many more surprising and incredible stories, attested and + supported to a degree that would have placed this legend beyond a cavil or + doubt. I have, also, never lost faith in the legend myself, and in so + doing have profited much from the examples of divers grant-claimants, who + have often jostled me in their more practical researches, and who have my + sincere sympathy at the skepticism of a modern hard-headed and practical + world. + </p> + <p> + For many years after Father Junipero Serro first rang his bell in the + wilderness of Upper California, the spirit which animated that adventurous + priest did not wane. The conversion of the heathen went on rapidly in the + establishment of missions throughout the land. So sedulously did the good + Fathers set about their work, that around their isolated chapels there + presently arose adobe huts, whose mud-plastered and savage tenants partook + regularly of the provisions, and occasionally of the Sacrament, of their + pious hosts. Nay, so great was their progress, that one zealous Padre is + reported to have administered the Lord’s Supper one Sabbath morning to + “over three hundred heathen salvages.” It was not to be wondered that the + Enemy of Souls, being greatly incensed thereat, and alarmed at his + decreasing popularity, should have grievously tempted and embarrassed + these holy Fathers, as we shall presently see. + </p> + <p> + Yet they were happy, peaceful days for California. The vagrant keels of + prying Commerce had not as yet ruffled the lordly gravity of her bays. No + torn and ragged gulch betrayed the suspicion of golden treasure. The wild + oats drooped idly in the morning heat or wrestled with the afternoon + breezes. Deer and antelope dotted the plain. The watercourses brawled in + their familiar channels, nor dreamed of ever shifting their regular tide. + The wonders of the Yosemite and Calaveras were as yet unrecorded. The holy + Fathers noted little of the landscape beyond the barbaric prodigality with + which the quick soil repaid the sowing. A new conversion, the advent of a + saint’s day, or the baptism of an Indian baby, was at once the chronicle + and marvel of their day. + </p> + <p> + At this blissful epoch there lived at the Mission of San Pablo Father Jose + Antonio Haro, a worthy brother of the Society of Jesus. He was of tall and + cadaverous aspect. A somewhat romantic history had given a poetic interest + to his lugubrious visage. While a youth, pursuing his studies at famous + Salamanca, he had become enamored of the charms of Dona Carmen de + Torrencevara, as that lady passed to her matutinal devotions. Untoward + circumstances, hastened, perhaps, by a wealthier suitor, brought this + amour to a disastrous issue, and Father Jose entered a monastery, taking + upon himself the vows of celibacy. It was here that his natural fervor and + poetic enthusiasm conceived expression as a missionary. A longing to + convert the uncivilized heathen succeeded his frivolous earthly passion, + and a desire to explore and develop unknown fastnesses continually + possessed him. In his flashing eye and sombre exterior was detected a + singular commingling of the discreet Las Casas and the impetuous Balboa. + </p> + <p> + Fired by this pious zeal, Father Jose went forward in the van of Christian + pioneers. On reaching Mexico he obtained authority to establish the + Mission of San Pablo. Like the good Junipero, accompanied only by an + acolyte and muleteer, he unsaddled his mules in a dusky canon, and rang + his bell in the wilderness. The savages—a peaceful, inoffensive, and + inferior race—presently flocked around him. The nearest military + post was far away, which contributed much to the security of these pious + pilgrims, who found their open trustfulness and amiability better fitted + to repress hostility than the presence of an armed, suspicious, and + brawling soldiery. So the good Father Jose said matins and prime, mass and + vespers, in the heart of sin and heathenism, taking no heed to himself, + but looking only to the welfare of the Holy Church. Conversions soon + followed, and on the 7th of July, 1760, the first Indian baby was + baptized,—an event which, as Father Jose piously records, “exceeds + the richnesse of gold or precious jewels or the chancing upon the Ophir of + Solomon.” I quote this incident as best suited to show the ingenious + blending of poetry and piety which distinguished Father Jose’s record. + </p> + <p> + The Mission of San Pablo progressed and prospered, until the pious founder + thereof, like the infidel Alexander, might have wept that there were no + more heathen worlds to conquer. But his ardent and enthusiastic spirit + could not long brook an idleness that seemed begotten of sin; and one + pleasant August morning in the year of grace 1770 Father Jose issued from + the outer court of the mission building, equipped to explore the field for + new missionary labors. + </p> + <p> + Nothing could exceed the quiet gravity and unpretentiousness of the little + cavalcade. First rode a stout muleteer, leading a pack-mule laden with the + provisions of the party, together with a few cheap crucifixes and hawks’ + bells. After him came the devout Padre Jose, bearing his breviary and + cross, with a black serapa thrown around his shoulders; while on either + side trotted a dusky convert, anxious to show a proper sense of his + regeneration by acting as guide into the wilds of his heathen brethren. + Their new condition was agreeably shown by the absence of the usual + mud-plaster, which in their unconverted state they assumed to keep away + vermin and cold. The morning was bright and propitious. Before their + departure, mass had been said in the chapel, and the protection of St. + Ignatius invoked against all contingent evils, but especially against + bears, which, like the fiery dragons of old, seemed to cherish + unconquerable hostility to the Holy Church. + </p> + <p> + As they wound through the canon, charming birds disported upon boughs and + sprays, and sober quails piped from the alders; the willowy watercourses + gave a musical utterance, and the long grass whispered on the hillside. On + entering the deeper defiles, above them towered dark green masses of pine, + and occasionally the madrono shook its bright scarlet berries. As they + toiled up many a steep ascent, Father Jose sometimes picked up fragments + of scoria, which spake to his imagination of direful volcanoes and + impending earthquakes. To the less scientific mind of the muleteer Ignacio + they had even a more terrifying significance; and he once or twice snuffed + the air suspiciously, and declared that it smelt of sulphur. So the first + day of their journey wore away, and at night they encamped without having + met a single heathen face. It was on this night that the Enemy of Souls + appeared to Ignacio in an appalling form. He had retired to a secluded + part of the camp and had sunk upon his knees in prayerful meditation, when + he looked up and perceived the Arch-Fiend in the likeness of a monstrous + bear. The Evil One was seated on his hind legs immediately before him, + with his fore paws joined together just below his black muzzle. Wisely + conceiving this remarkable attitude to be in mockery and derision of his + devotions, the worthy muleteer was transported with fury. Seizing an + arquebus, he instantly closed his eyes and fired. When he had recovered + from the effects of the terrific discharge, the apparition had + disappeared. Father Jose, awakened by the report, reached the spot only in + time to chide the muleteer for wasting powder and ball in a contest with + one whom a single ave would, have been sufficient to utterly discomfit. + What further reliance he placed on Ignacio’s story is not known; but, in + commemoration of a worthy Californian custom, the place was called “La + Canada de la Tentacion del Pio Muletero,” or “The Glen of the Temptation + of the Pious Muleteer,” a name which it retains to this day. + </p> + <p> + The next morning the party, issuing from a narrow gorge, came upon a long + valley, sear and burnt with the shadeless heat. Its lower extremity was + lost in a fading line of low hills, which, gathering might and volume + toward the upper end of the valley, upheaved a stupendous bulwark against + the breezy north. The peak of this awful spur was just touched by a fleecy + cloud that shifted to and fro like a banneret. Father Jose gazed at it + with mingled awe and admiration. By a singular coincidence, the muleteer + Ignacio uttered the simple ejaculation “Diablo!” + </p> + <p> + As they penetrated the valley, they soon began to miss the agreeable life + and companionable echoes of the canon they had quitted. Huge fissures in + the parched soil seemed to gape as with thirsty mouths. A few squirrels + darted from the earth and disappeared as mysteriously before the jingly + mules. A gray wolf trotted leisurely along just ahead. But whichever way + Father Jose turned, the mountain always asserted itself and arrested his + wandering eye. Out of the dry and arid valley it seemed to spring into + cooler and bracing life. Deep cavernous shadows dwelt along its base; + rocky fastnesses appeared midway of its elevation; and on either side huge + black hills diverged like massy roots from a central trunk. His lively + fancy pictured these hills peopled with a majestic and intelligent race of + savages; and looking into futurity, he already saw a monstrous cross + crowning the dome-like summit. Far different were the sensations of the + muleteer, who saw in those awful solitudes only fiery dragons, colossal + bears, and breakneck trails. The converts, Concepcion and Incarnacion, + trotting modestly beside the Padre, recognized, perhaps, some + manifestation of their former weird mythology. + </p> + <p> + At nightfall they reached the base of the mountain. Here Father Jose + unpacked his mules, said vespers, and, formally ringing his bell, called + upon the Gentiles within hearing to come and accept the holy faith. The + echoes of the black frowning hills around him caught up the pious + invitation and repeated it at intervals; but no Gentiles appeared that + night. Nor were the devotions of the muleteer again disturbed, although he + afterward asserted that, when the Father’s exhortation was ended, a + mocking peal of laughter came from the mountain. Nothing daunted by these + intimations of the near hostility of the Evil One, Father Jose declared + his intention to ascend the mountain at early dawn, and before the sun + rose the next morning he was leading the way. + </p> + <p> + The ascent was in many places difficult and dangerous. Huge fragments of + rock often lay across the trail, and after a few hours’ climbing they were + forced to leave their mules in a little gully and continue the ascent + afoot. Unaccustomed to such exertion, Father Jose often stopped to wipe + the perspiration from his thin cheeks. As the day wore on a strange + silence oppressed them. Except the occasional pattering of a squirrel, or + a rustling in the chimisal bushes, there were no signs of life. The + half-human print of a bear’s foot sometimes appeared before them, at which + Ignacio always crossed himself piously. The eye was sometimes cheated by a + dripping from the rocks, which on closer inspection proved to be a + resinous oily liquid with an abominable sulphurous smell. When they were + within a short distance of the summit, the discreet Ignacio, selecting a + sheltered nook for the camp, slipped aside and busied himself in + preparations for the evening, leaving the holy Father to continue the + ascent alone. Never was there a more thoughtless act of prudence, never a + more imprudent piece of caution. Without noticing the desertion, buried in + pious reflection, Father Jose pushed mechanically on, and, reaching the + summit, cast himself down and gazed upon the prospect. + </p> + <p> + Below him lay a succession of valleys opening into each other like gentle + lakes, until they were lost to the southward. Westerly the distant range + hid the bosky canada which sheltered the Mission of San Pablo. In the + farther distance the Pacific Ocean stretched away, bearing a cloud of fog + upon its bosom, which crept through the entrance of the bay, and rolled + thickly between him and the northeastward; the same fog hid the base of + the mountain and the view beyond. Still from time to time the fleecy veil + parted, and timidly disclosed charming glimpses of mighty rivers, mountain + defiles, and rolling plains, sear with ripened oats and bathed in the glow + of the setting sun. As father Jose gazed, he was penetrated with a pious + longing. Already his imagination, filled with enthusiastic conceptions, + beheld all that vast expanse gathered under the mild sway of the holy + faith and peopled with zealous converts. Each little knoll in fancy became + crowned with a chapel; from each dark canon gleamed the white walls of a + mission building. Growing bolder in his enthusiasm and looking farther + into futurity, he beheld a new Spain rising on these savage shores. He + already saw the spires of stately cathedrals, the domes of palaces, + vineyards, gardens, and groves. Convents, half hid among the hills, + peeping from plantations of branching limes, and long processions of + chanting nuns wound through the denies. So completely was the good + Father’s conception of the future confounded with the past, that even in + their choral strain the well-remembered accents of Carmen struck his ear. + He was busied in these fanciful imaginings, when suddenly over that + extended prospect the faint distant tolling of a bell rang sadly out and + died. It was the Angelus. Father Jose listened with superstitious + exaltation. The Mission of San Pablo was far away, and the sound must have + been some miraculous omen. But never before, to his enthusiastic sense, + did the sweet seriousness of this angelic symbol come with such strange + significance. With the last faint peal his glowing fancy seemed to cool; + the fog closed in below him, and the good Father remembered he had not had + his supper. He had risen and was wrapping his serapa around him, when he + perceived for the first time that he was not alone. + </p> + <p> + Nearly opposite, and where should have been the faithless Ignacio, a grave + and decorous figure was seated. His appearance was that of an elderly + hidalgo, dressed in mourning, with mustaches of iron-gray carefully waxed + and twisted round a pair of lantern-jaws. The monstrous hat and prodigious + feather, the enormous ruff and exaggerated trunk-hose, contrasted with a + frame shriveled and wizened, all belonged to a century previous. Yet + Father Jose was not astonished. His adventurous life and poetic + imagination, continually on the look-out for the marvelous, gave him a + certain advantage over the practical and material-minded. He instantly + detected the diabolical quality of his visitant, and was prepared. With + equal coolness and courtesy he met the cavalier’s obeisance. + </p> + <p> + “I ask your pardon, Sir Priest,” said the stranger, “for disturbing your + meditations. Pleasant they must have been, and right fanciful, I imagine, + when occasioned by so fair a prospect.” + </p> + <p> + “Worldly, perhaps, Sir Devil,—for such I take you to be,” said the + holy Father, as the stranger bowed his black plumes to the ground; + “worldly, perhaps; for it hath pleased Heaven to retain even in our + regenerated state much that pertaineth to the flesh, yet still, I trust, + not without some speculation for the welfare of the Holy Church. In + dwelling upon yon fair expanse, mine eyes have been graciously opened with + prophetic inspiration, and the promise of the heathen as an inheritance + hath marvelously recurred to me. For there can be none lack such diligence + in the true faith but may see that even the conversion of these pitiful + salvages hath a meaning. As the blessed St. Ignatius discreetly observes,” + continued Father Jose, clearing his throat and slightly elevating his + voice, “‘the heathen is given to the warriors of Christ, even as the + pearls of rare discovery which gladden the hearts of shipmen.’ Nay, I + might say”— + </p> + <p> + But here the stranger, who had been wrinkling his brows and twisting his + mustaches with well-bred patience, took advantage of an oratorical pause. + </p> + <p> + “It grieves me, Sir Priest, to interrupt the current of your eloquence as + discourteously as I have already broken your meditations; but the day + already waneth to night. I have a matter of serious import to make with + you, could I entreat your cautious consideration a few moments.” + </p> + <p> + Father Jose hesitated. The temptation was great, and the prospect of + acquiring some knowledge of the Great Enemy’s plans not the least trifling + object. And, if the truth must be told, there was a certain decorum about + the stranger that interested the Padre. Though well aware of the Protean + shapes the Arch-Fiend could assume, and though free from the weaknesses of + the flesh, Father Jose was not above the temptations of the spirit. Had + the Devil appeared, as in the case of the pious St. Anthony, in the + likeness of a comely damsel, the good Father, with his certain experience + of the deceitful sex, would have whisked her away in the saying of a + paternoster. But there was, added to the security of age, a grave sadness + about the stranger,—a thoughtful consciousness, as of being at a + great moral disadvantage, which at once decided him on a magnanimous + course of conduct. + </p> + <p> + The stranger then proceeded to inform him that he had been diligently + observing the holy Father’s triumphs in the valley. That, far from being + greatly exercised thereat, he had been only grieved to see so enthusiastic + and chivalrous an antagonist wasting his zeal in a hopeless work. For, he + observed, the issue of the great battle of Good and Evil had been + otherwise settled, as he would presently show him. “It wants but a few + moments of night,” he continued, “and over this interval of twilight, as + you know, I have been given complete control. Look to the west.” + </p> + <p> + As the Padre turned, the stranger took his enormous hat from his head and + waved it three times before him. At each sweep of the prodigious feather + the fog grew thinner, until it melted impalpably away, and the former + landscape returned, yet warm with the glowing sun. As Father Jose gazed a + strain of martial music arose from the valley, and issuing from a deep + canon the good Father beheld a long cavalcade of gallant cavaliers, + habited like his companion. As they swept down the plain, they were joined + by like processions, that slowly defiled from every ravine and canon of + the mysterious mountain. From time to time the peal of a trumpet swelled + fitfully upon the breeze; the cross of Santiago glittered, and the royal + banners of Castile and Aragon waved over the moving column. So they moved + on solemnly toward the sea, where, in the distance, Father Jose saw + stately caravels, bearing the same familiar banner, awaiting them. The + good Padre gazed with conflicting emotions, and the serious voice of the + stranger broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “Thou hast beheld, Sir Priest, the fading footprints of adventurous + Castile. Thou hast seen the declining glory of old Spain,—declining + as yonder brilliant sun. The sceptre she hath wrested from the heathen is + fast dropping from her decrepit and fleshless grasp. The children she hath + fostered shall know her no longer. The soil she hath acquired shall be + lost to her as irrevocably as she herself hath thrust the Moor from her + own Granada.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger paused, and his voice seemed broken by emotion; at the same + time, Father Jose, whose sympathizing heart yearned toward the departing + banners, cried in poignant accents,— + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, ye gallant cavaliers and Christian soldiers! Farewell, thou, + Juries de Balboa! thou, Alonzo de Ojeda! and thou, most venerable Las + Casas! farewell, and may Heaven prosper still the seed ye left behind!” + </p> + <p> + Then turning to the stranger, Father Jose beheld him gravely draw his + pocket-handkerchief from the basket-hilt of his rapier and apply it + decorously to his eyes. “Pardon this weakness, Sir Priest,” said the + cavalier apologetically; “but these worthy gentlemen were ancient friends + of mine, and have done me many a delicate service,—much more, + perchance, than these poor sables may signify,” he added, with a grim + gesture toward the mourning suit he wore. + </p> + <p> + Father Jose was too much preoccupied in reflection to notice the equivocal + nature of this tribute, and, after a few moments’ silence, said, as if + continuing his thought,— + </p> + <p> + “But the seed they have planted shall thrive and prosper on this fruitful + soil.” + </p> + <p> + As if answering the interrogatory, the stranger turned to the opposite + direction, and, again waving his hat, said, in the same serious tone, + “Look to the east!” + </p> + <p> + The Father turned, and, as the fog broke away before the waving plume, he + saw that the sun was rising. Issuing with its bright beams through the + passes of the snowy mountains beyond appeared a strange and motley crew. + Instead of the dark and romantic visages of his last phantom train, the + Father beheld with strange concern the blue eyes and flaxen hair of a + Saxon race. In place of martial airs and musical utterance, there rose + upon the ear a strange din of harsh gutturals and singular sibilation. + Instead of the decorous tread and stately mien of the cavaliers of the + former vision, they came pushing, bustling, panting, and swaggering. And + as they passed, the good Father noticed that giant trees were prostrated + as with the breath of a tornado, and the bowels of the earth were torn and + rent as with a convulsion. And Father Jose looked in vain for holy cross + or Christian symbol; there was but one that seemed an ensign, and he + crossed himself with holy horror as he perceived it bore the effigy of a + bear. + </p> + <p> + “Who are these swaggering Ishmaelites?” he asked, with something of + asperity in his tone. + </p> + <p> + The stranger was gravely silent. + </p> + <p> + “What do they here, with neither cross nor holy symbol?” he again + demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Have you the courage to see, Sir Priest?” responded the stranger quietly. + </p> + <p> + Father Jose felt his crucifix, as a lonely traveler might his rapier, and + assented. + </p> + <p> + “Step under the shadow of my plume,” said the stranger. + </p> + <p> + Father Jose stepped beside him and they instantly sank through the earth. + </p> + <p> + When he opened his eyes, which had remained closed in prayerful meditation + during his rapid descent, he found himself in a vast vault, bespangled + overhead with luminous points like the starred firmament. It was also + lighted by a yellow glow that seemed to proceed from a mighty sea or lake + that occupied the centre of the chamber. Around this subterranean sea + dusky figures flitted, bearing ladles filled with the yellow fluid, which + they had replenished from its depths. From this lake diverging streams of + the same mysterious flood penetrated like mighty rivers the cavernous + distance. As they walked by the banks of this glittering Styx, Father Jose + perceived how the liquid stream at certain places became solid. The ground + was strewn with glittering flakes. One of these the Padre picked up and + curiously examined. It was virgin gold. + </p> + <p> + An expression of discomfiture overcast the good Father’s face at this + discovery; but there was trace neither of malice nor satisfaction in the + stranger’s air, which was still of serious and fateful contemplation. When + Father Jose recovered his equanimity, he said bitterly,— + </p> + <p> + “This, then, Sir Devil, is your work! This is your deceitful lure for the + weak souls of sinful nations! So would you replace the Christian grace of + Holy Spain!” + </p> + <p> + “This is what must be,” returned the stranger gloomily. “But listen, Sir + Priest. It lies with you to avert the issue for a time. Leave me here in + peace. Go back to Castile, and take with you your bells, your images, and + your missions. Continue here, and you only precipitate results. Stay! + promise me you will do this, and you shall not lack that which will render + your old age an ornament and a blessing;” and the stranger motioned + significantly to the lake. + </p> + <p> + It was here, the legend discreetly relates, that the Devil showed—as + he always shows sooner or later—his cloven hoof. The worthy Padre, + sorely perplexed by this threefold vision, and, if the truth must be told, + a little nettled at this wresting away of the glory of holy Spanish + discovery, had shown some hesitation. But the unlucky bribe of the Enemy + of Souls touched his Castilian spirit. Starting hack in deep disgust, he + brandished his crucifix in the face of the unmasked Fiend, and in a voice + that made the dusky vault resound cried,— + </p> + <p> + “Avaunt thee, Sathanas! Diaholus, I defy thee! What! wouldst thou bribe + me,—me, a brother of the Sacred Society of the Holy Jesus, + Licentiate of Cordova and Inquisitor of Guadalaxara? Thinkest thou to buy + me with thy sordid treasure? Avaunt!” + </p> + <p> + What might have been the issue of this rupture, and how complete might + have been the triumph of the holy Father over the Arch-Fiend, who was + recoiling aghast at these sacred titles and the nourishing symbol, we can + never know, for at that moment the crucifix slipped through his fingers. + </p> + <p> + Scarcely had it touched the ground before Devil and holy Father + simultaneously cast themselves toward it. In the struggle they clinched, + and the pious Jose, who was as much the superior of his antagonist in + bodily as in spiritual strength, was about to treat the Great Adversary to + a back somersault, when he suddenly felt the long nails of the stranger + piercing his flesh. A new fear seized his heart, a numbing chillness crept + through his body, and he struggled to free himself, but in vain. A strange + roaring was in his ears; the lake and cavern danced before his eyes and + vanished, and with a loud cry he sank senseless to the ground. + </p> + <p> + When he recovered his consciousness, he was aware of a gentle swaying + motion of his body. He opened his eyes, and saw it was high noon, and that + he was being carried in a litter through the valley. He felt stiff, and + looking down, perceived that his arm was tightly bandaged to his side. + </p> + <p> + He closed his eyes, and, after a few words of thankful prayer, thought how + miraculously he had been preserved, and made a vow of candlesticks to the + blessed Saint Jose. He then called in a faint voice, and presently the + penitent Ignacio stood beside him. + </p> + <p> + The joy the poor fellow felt at his patron’s returning consciousness for + some time choked his utterance. He could only ejaculate, “A miracle! + Blessed Saint Jose, he lives!” and kiss the Padre’s bandaged hand. Father + Jose, more intent on his last night’s experience, waited for his emotion + to subside, and asked where he had been found. + </p> + <p> + “On the mountain, your Reverence, but a few varas from where he attacked + you.” + </p> + <p> + “How?—you saw him then?” asked the Padre in unfeigned astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Saw him, your Reverence! Mother of God! I should think I did! And your + Reverence shall see him too, if he ever comes again within range of + Ignacio’s arquebus.” + </p> + <p> + “What mean you, Ignacio?” said the Padre, sitting bolt-upright in his + litter. + </p> + <p> + “Why, the bear, your Reverence,—the bear, holy Father, who attacked + your worshipful person while you were meditating on the top of yonder + mountain.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the holy Father, lying down again. “Chut, child! I would be at + peace.” + </p> + <p> + When he reached the mission he was tenderly cared for, and in a few weeks + was enabled to resume those duties from which, as will be seen, not even + the machinations of the Evil One could divert him. The news of his + physical disaster spread over the country, and a letter to the Bishop of + Guadalaxara contained a confidential and detailed account of the good + Father’s spiritual temptation. But in some way the story leaked out; and + long after Jose was gathered to his fathers, his mysterious encounter + formed the theme of thrilling and whispered narrative. The mountain was + generally shunned. It is true that Senor Joaquin Pedrillo afterward + located a grant near the base of the mountain; but as Senora Pedrillo was + known to be a termagant half-breed, the senor was not supposed to be + over-fastidious. + </p> + <p> + Such is the legend of Monte del Diablo. As I said before, it may seem to + lack essential corroboration. The discrepancy between the Father’s + narrative and the actual climax has given rise to some skepticism on the + part of ingenious quibblers. All such I would simply refer to that part of + the report of Senor Julio Serro, Sub-Prefect of San Pablo, before whom + attest of the above was made. Touching this matter, the worthy Prefect + observes, “That although the body of Father Jose doth show evidence of + grievous conflict in the flesh, yet that is no proof that the Enemy of + Souls, who could assume the figure of a decorous elderly caballero, could + not at the same time transform himself into a bear for his own vile + purposes.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0146"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER + </h2></div> + <p> + The year of grace 1797 passed away on the coast of California in a + southwesterly gale. The little bay of San Carlos, albeit sheltered by the + headlands of the Blessed Trinity, was rough and turbulent; its foam clung + quivering to the seaward wall of the mission garden; the air was filled + with flying sand and spume, and as the Senor Comandante, Hermenegildo + Salvatierra, looked from the deep embrasured window of the presidio + guardroom, he felt the salt breath of the distant sea buffet a color into + his smoke-dried cheeks. + </p> + <p> + The commander, I have said, was gazing thoughtfully from the window of the + guardroom. He may have been reviewing the events of the year now about to + pass away. But, like the garrison at the Presidio, there was little to + review. The year, like its predecessors, had been uneventful,—the + days had slipped by in a delicious monotony of simple duties, unbroken by + incident or interruption. The regularly recurring feasts and saints’ days, + the half-yearly courier from San Diego, the rare transport-ship and rarer + foreign vessel, were the mere details of his patriarchal life. If there + was no achievement, there was certainly no failure. Abundant harvests and + patient industry amply supplied the wants of presidio and mission. + Isolated from the family of nations, the wars which shook the world + concerned them not so much as the last earthquake; the struggle that + emancipated their sister colonies on the other side of the continent to + them had no suggestiveness. In short, it was that glorious Indian summer + of Californian history around which so much poetical haze still lingers,—that + bland, indolent autumn of Spanish rule, so soon to be followed by the + wintry storms of Mexican independence and the reviving spring of American + conquest. + </p> + <p> + The commander turned from the window and walked toward the fire that + burned brightly on the deep oven-like hearth. A pile of copy-books, the + work of the presidio school, lay on the table. As he turned over the + leaves with a paternal interest, and surveyed the fair round Scripture + text,—the first pious pothooks of the pupils of San Carlos, an + audible commentary fell from his lips: “‘Abimelech took her from Abraham’—ah, + little one, excellent!—‘Jacob sent to see his brother’—body of + Christ! that upstroke of thine, Paquita, is marvelous; the governor shall + see it!” A film of honest pride dimmed the commander’s left eye,—the + right, alas! twenty years before had been sealed by an Indian arrow. He + rubbed it softly with the sleeve of his leather jacket, and continued: + “‘The Ishmaelites having arrived’”— + </p> + <p> + He stopped, for there was a step in the courtyard, a foot upon the + threshold, and a stranger entered. With the instinct of an old soldier, + the commander, after one glance at the intruder, turned quickly toward the + wall, where his trusty Toledo hung, or should have been hanging. But it + was not there, and as he recalled that the last time he had seen that + weapon it was being ridden up and down the gallery by Pepito, the infant + son of Bautista, the tortilio-maker, he blushed, and then contented + himself with frowning upon the intruder. + </p> + <p> + But the stranger’s air, though irreverent, was decidedly peaceful. He was + unarmed, and wore the ordinary cape of tarpaulin and sea-boots of a + mariner. Except a villainous smell of codfish, there was little about him + that was peculiar. + </p> + <p> + His name, as he informed the commander in Spanish that was more fluent + than elegant or precise,—his name was Peleg Scudder. He was master + of the schooner General Court, of the port of Salem, in Massachusetts, on + a trading voyage to the South Seas, but now driven by stress of weather + into the bay of San Carlos. He begged permission to ride out the gale + under the headlands of the Blessed Trinity, and no more. Water he did not + need, having taken in a supply at Bodega. He knew the strict surveillance + of the Spanish port regulations in regard to foreign vessels, and would do + nothing against the severe discipline and good order of the settlement. + There was a slight tinge of sarcasm in his tone as he glanced toward the + desolate parade ground of the presidio and the open unguarded gate. The + fact was that the sentry, Felipe Gomez, had discreetly retired to shelter + at the beginning of the storm, and was then sound asleep in the corridor. + </p> + <p> + The commander hesitated. The port regulations were severe, but he was + accustomed to exercise individual authority, and beyond an old order + issued ten years before, regarding the American ship Columbia, there was + no precedent to guide him. The storm was severe, and a sentiment of + humanity urged him to grant the stranger’s request. It is but just to the + commander to say that his inability to enforce a refusal did not weigh + with his decision. He would have denied with equal disregard of + consequences that right to a seventy-four-gun ship which he now yielded so + gracefully to this Yankee trading schooner. He stipulated only that there + should be no communication between the ship and shore. “For yourself, + Senor Captain,” he continued, “accept my hospitality. The fort is yours as + long as you shall grace it with your distinguished presence,” and with + old-fashioned courtesy he made the semblance of withdrawing from the + guardroom. + </p> + <p> + Master Peleg Scudder smiled as he thought of the half-dismantled fort, the + two mouldy brass cannon, cast in Manila a century previous, and the + shiftless garrison. A wild thought of accepting the commander’s offer + literally, conceived in the reckless spirit of a man who never let slip an + offer for trade, for a moment filled his brain, but a timely reflection of + the commercial unimportance of the transaction checked him. He only took a + capacious quid of tobacco, as the commander gravely drew a settle before + the fire, and in honor of his guest untied the black silk handkerchief + that bound his grizzled brows. + </p> + <p> + What passed between Salvatierra and his guest that night it becomes me + not, as a grave chronicler of the salient points of history, to relate. I + have said that Master Peleg Scudder was a fluent talker, and under the + influence of divers strong waters, furnished by his host, he became still + more loquacious. And think of a man with a twenty years’ budget of gossip! + The commander learned, for the first time, how Great Britain lost her + colonies; of the French Revolution; of the great Napoleon, whose + achievements, perhaps, Peleg colored more highly than the commander’s + superiors would have liked. And when Peleg turned questioner, the + commander was at his mercy. He gradually made himself master of the gossip + of the mission and presidio, the “small beer” chronicles of that pastoral + age, the conversion of the heathen, the presidio schools, and even asked + the commander how he had lost his eye. It is said that at this point of + the conversation Master Peleg produced from about his person divers small + trinkets, kickshaws and new-fangled trifles, and even forced some of them + upon his host. It is further alleged that under the malign influence of + Peleg and several glasses of aguardiente the commander lost somewhat of + his decorum, and behaved in a manner unseemly for one in his position, + reciting high-flown Spanish poetry, and even piping in a thin high voice + divers madrigals and heathen canzonets of an amorous complexion, chiefly + in regard to a “little one” who was his, the commander’s, “soul.” These + allegations, perhaps unworthy the notice of a serious chronicler, should + be received with great caution, and are introduced here as simple hearsay. + That the commander, however, took a handkerchief and attempted to show his + guest the mysteries of the sembi cuacua, capering in an agile but + indecorous manner about the apartment, has been denied. Enough for the + purposes of this narrative, that at midnight Peleg assisted his host to + bed with many protestations of undying friendship, and then, as the gale + had abated, took his leave of the presidio, and hurried aboard the General + Court. When the day broke the ship was gone. + </p> + <p> + I know not if Peleg kept his word with his host. It is said that the holy + Fathers at the mission that night heard a loud chanting in the plaza, as + of the heathens singing psalms through their noses; that for many days + after an odor of salt codfish prevailed in the settlement; that a dozen + hard nutmegs, which were unfit for spice or seed, were found in the + possession of the wife of the baker, and that several bushels of + shoe-pegs, which bore a pleasing resemblance to oats, but were quite + inadequate to the purposes of provender, were discovered in the stable of + the blacksmith. + </p> + <p> + But when the reader reflects upon the sacredness of a Yankee trader’s + word, the stringent discipline of the Spanish port regulations, and the + proverbial indisposition of my countrymen to impose upon the confidence of + a simple people, he will at once reject this part of the story. + </p> + <p> + A roll of drums, ushering in the year 1798, awoke the commander. The sun + was shining brightly, and the storm had ceased. He sat up in bed, and + through the force of habit rubbed his left eye. As the remembrance of the + previous night came back to him, he jumped from his couch and ran to the + window. There was no ship in the bay. A sudden thought seemed to strike + him, and he rubbed both of his eyes. Not content with this, he consulted + the metallic mirror which hung beside his crucifix. There was no mistake; + the commander had a visible second eye,—a right one,—as good, + save for the purposes of vision, as the left. + </p> + <p> + Whatever might have been the true secret of this transformation, but one + opinion prevailed at San Carlos. It was one of those rare miracles + vouchsafed a pious Catholic community as an evidence to the heathen, + through the intercession of the blessed San Carlos himself. That their + beloved commander, the temporal defender of the Faith, should be the + recipient of this miraculous manifestation was most fit and seemly. The + commander himself was reticent; he could not tell a falsehood,—he + dared not tell the truth. After all, if the good folk of San Carlos + believed that the powers of his right eye were actually restored, was it + wise and discreet for him to undeceive them? For the first time in his + life the commander thought of policy,—for the first time he quoted + that text which has been the lure of so many well-meaning but easy + Christians, of being “all things to all men.” Infeliz Hermenegildo + Salvatierra! + </p> + <p> + For by degrees an ominous whisper crept through the little settlement. The + right eye of the commander, although miraculous, seemed to exercise a + baleful effect upon the beholder. No one could look at it without winking. + It was cold, hard, relentless, and unflinching. More than that, it seemed + to be endowed with a dreadful prescience,—a faculty of seeing + through and into the inarticulate thoughts of those it looked upon. The + soldiers of the garrison obeyed the eye rather than the voice of their + commander, and answered his glance rather than his lips in questioning. + The servants could not evade the ever-watchful but cold attention that + seemed to pursue them. The children of the presidio school smirched their + copy-books under the awful supervision, and poor Paquita, the prize pupil, + failed utterly in that marvelous up-stroke when her patron stood beside + her. Gradually distrust, suspicion, self-accusation, and timidity took the + place of trust, confidence, and security throughout San Carlos. Wherever + the right eye of the commander fell, a shadow fell with it. + </p> + <p> + Not was Salvatierra entirely free from the baleful influence of his + miraculous acquisition. Unconscious of its effect upon others, he only saw + in their actions evidence of certain things that the crafty Peleg had + hinted on that eventful New Year’s eve. His most trusty retainers + stammered, blushed, and faltered before him. Self-accusations, confessions + of minor faults and delinquencies, or extravagant excuses and apologies + met his mildest inquiries. The very children that he loved—his pet + pupil, Paquita—seemed to be conscious of some hidden sin. The result + of this constant irritation showed itself more plainly. For the first + half-year the commander’s voice and eye were at variance. He was still + kind, tender, and thoughtful in speech. Gradually, however, his voice took + upon itself the hardness of his glance and its skeptical, impassive + quality, and as the year again neared its close it was plain that the + commander had fitted himself to the eye, and not the eye to the commander. + </p> + <p> + It may be surmised that these changes did not escape the watchful + solicitude of the Fathers. Indeed, the few who were first to ascribe the + right eye of Salvatierra to miraculous origin and the special grace of the + blessed San Carlos, now talked openly of witchcraft and the agency of + Luzbel, the evil one. It would have fared ill with Hermenegildo + Salvatierra had he been aught but commander or amenable to local + authority. But the reverend Father, Friar Manuel de Cortes, had no power + over the political executive, and all attempts at spiritual advice failed + signally. He retired baffled and confused from his first interview with + the commander, who seemed now to take a grim satisfaction in the fateful + power of his glance. The holy Father contradicted himself, exposed the + fallacies of his own arguments, and even, it is asserted, committed + himself to several undoubted heresies. When the commander stood up at + mass, if the officiating priest caught that skeptical and searching eye, + the service was inevitably ruined. Even the power of the Holy Church + seemed to be lost, and the last hold upon the affections of the people and + the good order of the settlement departed from San Carlos. + </p> + <p> + As the long dry summer passed, the low hills that surrounded the white + walls of the presidio grew more and more to resemble in hue the leathern + jacket of the commander, and Nature herself seemed to have borrowed his + dry, hard glare. The earth was cracked and seamed with drought; a blight + had fallen upon the orchards and vineyards, and the rain, long delayed and + ardently prayed for, came not. The sky was as tearless as the right eye of + the commander. Murmurs of discontent, insubordination, and plotting among + the Indians reached his ear; he only set his teeth the more firmly, + tightened the knot of his black silk handkerchief, and looked up his + Toledo. + </p> + <p> + The last day of the year 1798 found the commander sitting, at the hour of + evening prayers, alone in the guardroom. He no longer attended the + services of the Holy Church, but crept away at such times to some solitary + spot, where he spent the interval in silent meditation. The firelight + played upon the low beams and rafters, but left the bowed figure of + Salvatierra in darkness. Sitting thus, he felt a small hand touch his arm, + and, looking down, saw the figure of Paquita, his little Indian pupil, at + his knee. “Ah! littlest of all,” said the commander, with something of his + old tenderness, lingering over the endearing diminutives of his native + speech,—“sweet one, what doest thou here? Art thou not afraid of him + whom every one shuns and fears?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the little Indian readily, “not in the dark. I hear your voice,—the + old voice; I feel your touch,—the old touch; but I see not your eye, + Senor Comandante. That only I fear,—and that, O senor, O my father,” + said the child, lifting her little arms towards his,—“that I know is + not thine own!” + </p> + <p> + The commander shuddered and turned away. Then, recovering himself, he + kissed Paquita gravely on the forehead and bade her retire. A few hours + later, when silence had fallen upon the presidio, he sought his own couch + and slept peacefully. + </p> + <p> + At about the middle watch of the night a dusky figure crept through the + low embrasure of the commander’s apartment. Other figures were flitting + through the parade-ground, which the commander might have seen had he not + slept so quietly. The intruder stepped noiselessly to the couch and + listened to the sleeper’s deep-drawn respiration. Something glittered in + the firelight as the savage lifted his arm; another moment and the sore + perplexities of Hermenegildo Salvatierra would have been over, when + suddenly the savage started and fell back in a paroxysm of terror. The + commander slept peacefully, but his right eye, widely opened, fixed and + unaltered, glared coldly on the would-be assassin. The man fell to the + earth in a fit, and the noise awoke the sleeper. + </p> + <p> + To rise to his feet, grasp his sword, and deal blows thick and fast upon + the mutinous savages who now thronged the room, was the work of a moment. + Help opportunely arrived, and the undisciplined Indians were speedily + driven beyond the walls; but in the scuffle the commander received a blow + upon his right eye, and, lifting his hand to that mysterious organ, it was + gone. Never again was it found, and never again, for bale or bliss, did it + adorn the right orbit of the commander. + </p> + <p> + With it passed away the spell that had fallen upon San Carlos. The rain + returned to invigorate the languid soil, harmony was restored between + priest and soldier, the green grass presently waved over the sere + hillsides, the children flocked again to the side of their martial + preceptor, a Te Deum was sung in the mission church, and pastoral content + once more smiled upon the gentle valleys of San Carlos. And far southward + crept the General Court with its master. Peleg Scudder, trafficking in + heads and peltries with the Indians, and offering glass eyes, wooden legs, + and other Boston notions to the chiefs. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0147"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + THE LEGEND OF DEVIL’S POINT + </h2></div> + <p> + On the northerly shore of San Francisco Bay, at a point where the Golden + Gate broadens into the Pacific, stands a bluff promontory. It affords + shelter from the prevailing winds to a semicircular bay on the east. + Around this bay the hillside is bleak and barren, but there are traces of + former habitation in a weather-beaten cabin and deserted corral. It is + said that these were originally built by an enterprising squatter, who for + some unaccountable reason abandoned them shortly after. The “jumper” who + succeeded him disappeared one day quite as mysteriously. The third tenant, + who seemed to be a man of sanguine, hopeful temperament, divided the + property into building lots, staked off the hillside, and projected the + map of a new metropolis. Failing, however, to convince the citizens of San + Francisco that they had mistaken the site of their city, he presently fell + into dissipation and despondency. He was frequently observed haunting the + narrow strip of beach at low tide or perched upon the cliff at high water. + In the latter position a sheep-tender one day found him, cold and + pulseless, with a map of his property in his hand, and his face turned + toward the distant sea. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps these circumstances gave the locality its infelicitous reputation. + Vague rumors were bruited of a supernatural influence that had been + exercised on the tenants. Strange stories were circulated of the origin of + the diabolical title by which the promontory was known. By some it was + believed to be haunted by the spirit of one of Sir Francis Drake’s + sailors, who had deserted his ship in consequence of stories told by the + Indians of gold discoveries, but who had perished by starvation on the + rocks. A vaquero who had once passed a night in the ruined cabin related + how a strangely dressed and emaciated figure had knocked at the door at + midnight and demanded food. Other story-tellers, of more historical + accuracy, roundly asserted that Sir Francis himself had been little better + than a pirate, and had chosen this spot to conceal quantities of + ill-gotten booty taken from neutral bottoms, and had protected his + hiding-place by the orthodox means of hellish incantation and diabolic + agencies. On moonlight nights a shadowy ship was sometimes seen standing + off and on, or when fogs encompassed sea and shore, the noise of oars + rising and falling in their rowlocks could be heard muffled and + indistinctly during the night. Whatever foundation there might have been + for these stories, it was certain that a more weird and desolate-looking + spot could not have been selected for their theatre. High hills, + verdureless and enfiladed with dark canadas, cast their gaunt shadows on + the tide. During a greater portion of the day the wind, which blew + furiously and incessantly, seemed possessed with a spirit of fierce + disquiet and unrest. Toward nightfall the sea-fog crept with soft step + through the portals of the Golden Gate, or stole in noiseless marches down + the hillside, tenderly soothing the wind-buffeted face of the cliff, until + sea and sky were hid together. At such times the populous city beyond and + the nearer settlement seemed removed to an infinite distance. An + immeasurable loneliness settled upon the cliff. The creaking of a + windlass, or the monotonous chant of sailors on some unseen, outlying + ship, came faint and far, and full of mystic suggestion. + </p> + <p> + About a year ago a well-to-do middle-aged broker of San Francisco found + himself at nightfall the sole occupant of a plunger, encompassed in a + dense fog, and drifting toward the Golden Gate. This unexpected + termination of an afternoon’s sail was partly attributable to his want of + nautical skill, and partly to the effect of his usually sanguine nature. + Having given up the guidance of his boat to the wind and tide, he had + trusted too implicitly for that reaction which his business experience + assured him was certain to occur in all affairs, aquatic as well as + terrestrial. “The tide will turn soon,” said the broker confidently, “or + something will happen.” He had scarcely settled himself back again in the + stern-sheets, before the bow of the plunger, obeying some mysterious + impulse, veered slowly around and a dark object loomed up before him. A + gentle eddy carried the boat farther in shore, until at last it was + completely embayed under the lee of a rocky point now faintly discernible + through the fog. He looked around him in the vain hope of recognizing some + familiar headland. The tops of the high hills which rose on either side + were hidden in the fog. As the boat swung around, he succeeded in + fastening a line to the rocks, and sat down again with a feeling of + renewed confidence and security. + </p> + <p> + It was very cold. The insidious fog penetrated his tightly buttoned coat, + and set his teeth to chattering in spite of the aid he sometimes drew from + a pocket-flask. His clothes were wet, and the stern-sheets were covered + with spray. The comforts of fire and shelter continually rose before his + fancy as he gazed wistfully on the rocks. In sheer despair he finally drew + the boat toward the most accessible part of the cliff and essayed to + ascend. This was less difficult than it appeared, and in a few moments he + had gained the hill above. A dark object at a little distance attracted + his attention, and on approaching it proved to be a deserted cabin. The + story goes on to say that, having built a roaring fire of stakes pulled + from the adjoining corral, with the aid of a flask of excellent brandy, he + managed to pass the early part of the evening with comparative comfort. + There was no door in the cabin, and the windows were simply square + openings, which freely admitted the searching fog. But in spite of these + discomforts,—being a man of cheerful, sanguine temperament,—he + amused himself by poking the fire and watching the ruddy glow which the + flames threw on the fog from the open door. In this innocent occupation a + great weariness overcame him, and he fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + He was awakened at midnight by a loud “halloo,” which seemed to proceed + directly from the sea. Thinking it might be the cry of some boatman lost + in the fog, he walked to the edge of the cliff, but the thick veil that + covered sea and land rendered all objects at the distance of a few feet + indistinguishable. He heard, however, the regular strokes of oars rising + and falling on the water. The halloo was repeated. He was clearing his + throat to reply, when to his surprise an answer came apparently from the + very cabin he had quitted. Hastily retracing his steps, he was the more + amazed, on reaching the open door, to find a stranger warming himself by + the fire. Stepping back far enough to conceal his own person, he took a + good look at the intruder. + </p> + <p> + He was a man of about forty, with a cadaverous face. But the oddity of his + dress attracted the broker’s attention more than his lugubrious + physiognomy. His legs were hid in enormously wide trousers descending to + his knee, where they met long boots of sealskin. A pea-jacket with + exaggerated cuffs, almost as large as the breeches, covered his chest, and + around his waist a monstrous belt, with a buckle like a dentist’s sign, + supported two trumpet-mouthed pistols and a curved hanger. He wore a long + queue, which depended halfway down his back. As the firelight fell on his + ingenuous countenance the broker observed with some concern that this + queue was formed entirely of a kind of tobacco known as pigtail or twist. + Its effect, the broker remarked, was much heightened when in a moment of + thoughtful abstraction the apparition bit off a portion of it and rolled + it as a quid into the cavernous recesses of his jaws. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the nearer splash of oars indicated the approach of the unseen + boat. The broker had barely time to conceal himself behind the cabin + before a number of uncouth-looking figures clambered up the hill toward + the ruined rendezvous. They were dressed like the previous comer, who, as + they passed through the open door, exchanged greetings with each in + antique phraseology, bestowing at the same time some familiar nickname. + Flash-in-the-Pan, Spitter-of-Frogs, Malmsey Butt, Latheyard Will, and + Mark-the-Pinker, were the few sobriquets the broker remembered. Whether + these titles were given to express some peculiarity of their owner he + could not tell, for a silence followed as they slowly ranged themselves + upon the floor of the cabin in a semicircle around their cadaverous host. + </p> + <p> + At length Malmsey Butt, a spherical-bodied man-of-war’s-man, with a + rubicund nose, got on his legs somewhat unsteadily, and addressed himself + to the company. They had met that evening, said the speaker, in accordance + with a time-honored custom. This was simply to relieve that one of their + number who for fifty years had kept watch and ward over the locality where + certain treasures had been buried. At this point the broker pricked up his + ears. “If so be, camarados and brothers all,” he continued, “ye are ready + to receive the report of our excellent and well-beloved brother, Master + Slit-the-Weazand, touching his search for this treasure, why, marry, to ’t + and begin.” + </p> + <p> + A murmur of assent went around the circle as the speaker resumed his seat. + Master Slit-the-Weazand slowly opened his lantern jaws and began. He had + spent much of his time in determining the exact location of the treasure. + He believed—nay, he could state positively—that its position + was now settled. It was true he had done some trifling little business + outside. Modesty forbade his mentioning the particulars, but he would + simply state that of the three tenants who had occupied the cabin during + the past ten years, none were now alive. [Applause, and cries of “Go to! + thou wast always a tall fellow!” and the like.] + </p> + <p> + Mark-the-Pinker next arose. Before proceeding to business he had a duty to + perform in the sacred name of friendship. It ill became him to pass a + eulogy upon the qualities of the speaker who had preceded him, for he had + known him from “boyhood’s hour.” Side by side they had wrought together in + the Spanish war. For a neat hand with a Toledo he challenged his equal, + while how nobly and beautifully he had won his present title of + Slit-the-Weazand all could testify. The speaker, with some show of + emotion, asked to be pardoned if he dwelt too freely on passages of their + early companionship; he then detailed, with a fine touch of humor, his + comrade’s peculiar manner of slitting the ears and lips of a refractory + Jew who had been captured in one of their previous voyages. He would not + weary the patience of his hearers, but would briefly propose that the + report of Slit-the-Weazand be accepted, and that the thanks of the company + be tendered him. + </p> + <p> + A breaker of strong spirits was then rolled into the hut, and cans of grog + were circulated freely from hand to hand. The health of Slit-the-Weazand + was proposed in a neat speech by Mark-the-Pinker, and responded to by the + former gentleman in a manner that drew tears to the eyes of all present. + To the broker, in his concealment, this momentary diversion from the real + business of the meeting occasioned much anxiety. As yet nothing had been + said to indicate the exact locality of the treasure to which they had + mysteriously alluded. Fear restrained him from open inquiry, and curiosity + kept him from making good his escape during the orgy which followed. But + his situation was beginning to become critical. Flash-in-the-Pan, who + seemed to have been a man of choleric humor, taking fire during some hotly + contested argument, discharged both his pistols at the breast of his + opponent. The balls passed through on each side immediately below his + armpits, making a clean hole, through which the horrified broker could see + the firelight behind him. The wounded man, without betraying any concern, + excited the laughter of the company by jocosely putting his arms akimbo, + and inserting his thumbs into the orifices of the wounds as if they had + been armholes. This having in a measure restored good humor, the party + joined hands and formed a circle preparatory to dancing. The dance was + commenced by some monotonous stanzas hummed in a very high key by one of + the party, the rest joining in the following chorus, which seemed to + present a familiar sound to the broker’s ear:— + </p> +<div class='pre'> + “Her Majesty is very sicke, Lord Essex hath the measles, Our Admiral + hath licked ye French—Poppe! saith ye weasel!” + </div> + <p> + At the regular recurrence of the last line, the party discharged their + loaded pistols in all directions, rendering the position of the unhappy + broker one of extreme peril and perplexity. + </p> + <p> + When the tumult had partially subsided, Flash-in-the-Pan called the + meeting to order, and most of the revelers returned to their places, + Malmsey Butt, however, insisting upon another chorus, and singing at the + top of his voice:— + </p> +<div class='pre'> + “I am ycleped J. Keyser—I was born at Spring, hys Garden, My father + toe make me ane clerke erst did essaye, But a fico for ye offis—I + spurn ye losels offeire; For I fain would be ane butcher by’r + ladykin alwaye.” + </div> + <p> + Flash-in-the-Pan drew a pistol from his belt, and bidding some one gag + Malmsey Butt with the stock of it, proceeded to read from a portentous + roll of parchment that he held in his hand. It was a semi-legal document, + clothed in the quaint phraseology of a bygone period. After a long + preamble, asserting their loyalty as lieges of her most bountiful Majesty + and Sovereign Lady the Queen, the document declared that they then and + there took possession of the promontory, and all the treasure-trove + therein contained, formerly buried by Her Majesty’s most faithful and + devoted Admiral Sir Francis Drake, with the right to search, discover, and + appropriate the same; and for the purpose thereof they did then and there + form a guild or corporation to so discover, search for, and disclose said + treasures, and by virtue thereof they solemnly subscribed their names. But + at this moment the reading of the parchment was arrested by an exclamation + from the assembly, and the broker was seen frantically struggling at the + door in the strong arms of Mark-the-Pinker. + </p> + <p> + “Let me go!” he cried, as he made a desperate attempt to reach the side of + Master Flash-in-the-Pan. “Let me go! I tell you, gentlemen, that document + is not worth the parchment it is written on. The laws of the State, the + customs of the country, the mining ordinances, are all against it. Don’t, + by all that’s sacred, throw away such a capital investment through + ignorance and informality. Let me go! I assure you, gentlemen, + professionally, that you have a big thing,—a remarkably big thing, + and even if I ain’t in it, I’m not going to see it fall through. Don’t, + for God’s sake, gentlemen, I implore you, put your names to such a + ridiculous paper. There isn’t a notary”— + </p> + <p> + He ceased. The figures around him, which were beginning to grow fainter + and more indistinct as he went on, swam before his eyes, flickered, + reappeared again, and finally went out. He rubbed his eyes and gazed + around him. The cabin was deserted. On the hearth the red embers of his + fire were fading away in the bright beams of the morning sun, that looked + aslant through the open window. He ran out to the cliff. The sturdy + sea-breeze fanned his feverish cheeks and tossed the white caps of waves + that beat in pleasant music on the beach below. A stately merchantman with + snowy canvas was entering the Gate. The voices of sailors came cheerfully + from a bark at anchor below the point. The muskets of the sentries gleamed + brightly on Alcatraz, and the rolling of drums swelled on the breeze. + Farther on, the hills of San Francisco, cottage-crowned and bordered with + wharves and warehouses, met his longing eye. + </p> + <p> + Such is the legend of Devil’s Point. Any objections to its reliability may + be met with the statement that the broker who tells the story has since + incorporated a company under the title of “Flash-in-the-Pan Gold and + Silver Treasure Mining Company,” and that its shares are already held at a + stiff figure. A copy of the original document is said to be on record in + the office of the company, and on any clear day the locality of the claim + may be distinctly seen from the hills of San Francisco. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0148"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + THE ADVENTURE OF PADRE VICENTIO + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + A LEGEND OF SAN FRANCISCO + </div> + <p> + One pleasant New Year’s eve, about forty years ago, Padre Vicentio was + slowly picking his way across the sand-hills from the Mission Dolores. As + he climbed the crest of the ridge beside Mission Creek, his broad, shining + face might have been easily mistaken for the beneficent image of the + rising moon, so bland was its smile and so indefinite its features. For + the Padre was a man of notable reputation and character; his ministration + at the Mission of San Jose had been marked with cordiality and unction; he + was adored by the simple-minded savages, and had succeeded in impressing + his individuality so strongly upon them, that the very children were said + to have miraculously resembled him in feature. + </p> + <p> + As the holy man reached the loneliest portion of the road, he naturally + put spurs to his mule as if to quicken that decorous pace which the + obedient animal had acquired through long experience of its master’s + habits. The locality had an unfavorable reputation. Sailors—deserters + from whale-ships—had been seen lurking about the outskirts of the + town, and low scrub oaks which everywhere beset the trail might have + easily concealed some desperate runaway. Besides these material + obstructions, the Devil, whose hostility to the Church was well known, was + said to sometimes haunt the vicinity in the likeness of a spectral whaler, + who had met his death in a drunken bout from a harpoon in the hands of a + companion. The ghost of this unfortunate mariner was frequently observed + sitting on the hill toward the dusk of evening, armed with his favorite + weapon and a tub containing a coil of line, looking out for some belated + traveler on whom to exercise his professional skill. It is related that + the good Father Jose Maria of the Mission Dolores had been twice attacked + by this phantom sportsman; that once, on returning from San Francisco, and + panting with exertion from climbing the hill, he was startled by a + stentorian cry of “There she blows!” quickly followed by a hurtling + harpoon, which buried itself in the sand beside him; that on another + occasion he narrowly escaped destruction, his serapa having been + transfixed by the diabolical harpoon and dragged away in triumph. Popular + opinion seems to have been divided as to the reason for the Devil’s + particular attention to Father Jose, some asserting that the extreme piety + of the Padre excited the Evil One’s animosity, and others that his adipose + tendency simply rendered him, from a professional view-point, a profitable + capture. + </p> + <p> + Had Father Vicentio been inclined to scoff at this apparition as a + heretical innovation, there was still the story of Concepcion, the Demon + Vaquero, whose terrible riata was fully as potent as the whaler’s harpoon. + Concepcion, when in the flesh, had been a celebrated herder of cattle and + wild horses, and was reported to have chased the Devil in the shape of a + fleet pinto colt all the way from San Luis Obispo to San Francisco, vowing + not to give up the chase until he had overtaken the disguised Arch-Enemy. + This the Devil prevented by resuming his own shape, but kept the + unfortunate vaquero to the fulfillment of his rash vow; and Concepcion + still scoured the coast on a phantom steed, beguiling the monotony of his + eternal pursuit by lassoing travelers, dragging them at the heels of his + unbroken mustang until they were eventually picked up, half strangled, by + the roadside. The Padre listened attentively for the tramp of this + terrible rider. But no footfall broke the stillness of the night; even the + hoofs of his own mule sank noiselessly in the shifting sand. Now and then + a rabbit bounded lightly by him, or a quail ran into the bushes. The + melancholy call of plover from the adjoining marshes of Mission Creek came + to him so faintly and fitfully that it seemed almost a recollection of the + past rather than a reality of the present. + </p> + <p> + To add to his discomposure, one of those heavy sea-fogs peculiar to the + locality began to drift across the hills and presently encompassed him. + While endeavoring to evade its cold embraces, Padre Vicentio incautiously + drove his heavy spurs into the flanks of his mule as that puzzled animal + was hesitating on the brink of a steep declivity. Whether the poor beast + was indignant at this novel outrage, or had been for some time reflecting + on the evils of being priest-ridden, has not transpired; enough that he + suddenly threw up his heels, pitching the reverend man over his head, and, + having accomplished this feat, coolly dropped on his knees and tumbled + after his rider. + </p> + <p> + Over and over went the Padre, closely followed by his faithless mule. + Luckily the little hollow which received the pair was of sand, that + yielded to the superincumbent weight, half burying them without further + injury. For some moments the poor man lay motionless, vainly endeavoring + to collect his scattered senses. A hand irreverently laid upon his collar + and a rough shake assisted to recall his consciousness. As the Padre + staggered to his feet he found himself confronted by a stranger. + </p> + <p> + Seen dimly through the fog, and under circumstances that to say the least + were not prepossessing, the new-comer had an inexpressibly mysterious and + brigand-like aspect. A long boat-cloak concealed his figure, and a + slouched hat hid his features, permitting only his eyes to glisten in the + depths. With a deep groan the Padre slipped from the stranger’s grasp and + subsided into the soft sand again. + </p> + <p> + “Gad’s life!” said the stranger, pettishly, “hast no more bones in thy fat + carcass than a jellyfish? Lend a hand, here! Yo, heave ho!” and he dragged + the Padre into an upright position. “Now, then, who and what art thou?” + </p> + <p> + The Padre could not help thinking that the question might have more + properly been asked by himself; but with an odd mixture of dignity and + trepidation he began enumerating his different titles, which were by no + means brief, and would have been alone sufficient to strike awe in the + bosom of an ordinary adversary. The stranger irreverently broke in upon + his formal phrases, and assuring him that a priest was the very person he + was looking for, coolly replaced the old man’s hat, which had tumbled off, + and bade him accompany him at once on an errand of spiritual counsel to + one who was even then lying in extremity. “To think,” said the stranger, + “that I should stumble upon the very man I was seeking! Body of Bacchus! + but this is lucky! Follow me quickly, for there is no time to lose.” + </p> + <p> + Like most easy natures, the positive assertion of the stranger, and withal + a certain authoritative air of command, overcame what slight objections + the Padre might have feebly nurtured during this remarkable interview. The + spiritual invitation was one, also, that he dared not refuse; not only + that, but it tended somewhat to remove the superstitious dread with which + he had begun to regard the mysterious stranger. But, following at a + respectful distance, the Padre could not help observing with a thrill of + horror that the stranger’s footsteps made no impression on the sand, and + his figure seemed at times to blend and incorporate itself with the fog, + until the holy man was obliged to wait for its reappearance. In one of + these intervals of embarrassment he heard the ringing of the far-off + mission bell proclaiming the hour of midnight. Scarcely had the last + stroke died away before the announcement was taken up and repeated by a + multitude of bells of all sizes, and the air was filled with the sound of + striking clocks and the pealing of steeple chimes. The old man uttered a + cry of alarm. The stranger sharply demanded the cause. “The bells! did you + not hear them?” gasped Padre Vicentio. “Tush! tush!” answered the + stranger, “thy fall hath set triple bob-majors ringing in thine ears. Come + on!” + </p> + <p> + The Padre was only too glad to accept the explanation conveyed in this + discourteous answer. But he was destined for another singular experience. + When they had reached the summit of the eminence now known as Russian + Hill, an exclamation again burst from the Padre. The stranger turned to + his companion with an impatient gesture, but the Padre heeded him not. The + view that burst upon his sight was such as might well have engrossed the + attention of a more enthusiastic temperament. The fog had not yet reached + the hill, and the long valleys and hillsides of the embarcadero below were + glittering with the light of a populous city. “Look!” said the Padre, + stretching his hand over the spreading landscape. “Look! dost thou not see + the stately squares and brilliantly lighted avenues of a mighty + metropolis? Dost thou not see, as it were, another firmament below?” + </p> + <p> + “Avast heaving, reverend man, and quit this folly,” said the stranger, + dragging the bewildered Padre after him. “Behold rather the stars knocked + out of thy hollow noddle by the fall thou hast had. Prithee, get over thy + visions and rhapsodies, for the time is wearing apace.” + </p> + <p> + The Padre humbly followed without another word. Descending the hill toward + the north, the stranger leading the way, in a few moments the Padre + detected the wash of waves, and presently his feet struck the firmer sand + of the beach. Here the stranger paused, and the Padre perceived a boat + lying in readiness hard by. As he stepped into the stern-sheets’, in + obedience to the command of his companion, he noticed that the rowers + seemed to partake of the misty incorporeal texture of his companion, a + similarity that became the more distressing when he perceived also that + their oars in pulling together made no noise. The stranger, assuming the + helm, guided the boat on quietly, while the fog, settling over the face of + the water and closing around them, seemed to interpose a muffled wall + between themselves and the rude jarring of the outer world. As they pushed + further into this penetralia, the Padre listened anxiously for the sound + of creaking blocks and the rattling of cordage, but no vibration broke the + veiled stillness or disturbed the warm breath of the fleecy fog. Only one + incident occurred to break the monotony of their mysterious journey. A + one-eyed rower, who sat in front of the Padre, catching the devout + Father’s eye, immediately grinned such a ghastly smile, and winked his + remaining eye with such diabolical intensity of meaning, that the Padre + was constrained to utter a pious ejaculation, which had the disastrous + effect of causing the marine Cocles to “catch a crab,” throwing his heels + in the air and his head into the bottom of the boat. But even this + accident did not disturb the gravity of the rest of the ghastly boat’s + crew. + </p> + <p> + When, as it seemed to the Padre, ten minutes had elapsed, the outline of a + large ship loomed up directly across their bow. Before he could utter the + cry of warning that rose to his lips, or brace himself against the + expected shock, the boat passed gently and noiselessly through the sides + of the vessel, and the holy man found himself standing on the berth-deck + of what seemed to be an ancient caravel. The boat and boat’s crew had + vanished. Only his mysterious friend, the stranger, remained. By the light + of a swinging-lamp the Padre beheld him standing beside a hammock, + whereon, apparently, lay the dying man to whom he had been so mysteriously + summoned. As the Padre, in obedience to a sign from his companion, stepped + to the side of the sufferer, he feebly opened his eyes and thus addressed + him:— + </p> + <p> + “Thou seest before thee, reverend Father, a helpless mortal, struggling + not only with the last agonies of the flesh, but beaten down and tossed + with sore anguish of the spirit. It matters little when or how I became + what thou now seest me. Enough that my life has been ungodly and sinful, + and that my only hope of absolution lies in my imparting to thee a secret + which is of vast importance to the Holy Church, and affects greatly her + power, wealth, and dominion on these shores. But the terms of this secret + and the conditions of my absolution are peculiar. I have but five minutes + to live. In that time I must receive the extreme unction of the Church.” + </p> + <p> + “And thy secret?” said the holy Father. + </p> + <p> + “Shall be told afterwards,” answered the dying man. “Come, my time is + short. Shrive me quickly.” + </p> + <p> + The Padre hesitated. “Couldst thou not tell this secret first?” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” said the dying man, with what seemed to the Padre a + momentary gleam of triumph. Then, as his breath grew feebler, he called + impatiently, “Shrive me! shrive me!” + </p> + <p> + “Let me know at least what this secret concerns?” suggested the Padre + insinuatingly. + </p> + <p> + “Shrive me first,” said the dying man. + </p> + <p> + But the priest still hesitated, parleying with the sufferer until the + ship’s bell struck, when, with a triumphant mocking laugh from the + stranger, the vessel suddenly fell to pieces, amid the rushing of waters + which at once involved the dying man, the priest, and the mysterious + stranger. + </p> + <p> + The Padre did not recover his consciousness until high noon the next day, + when he found himself lying in a little hollow between the Mission Hills, + and his faithful mule a few paces from him, cropping the sparse herbage. + The Padre made the best of his way home, but wisely abstained from + narrating the facts mentioned above until after the discovery of gold, + when the whole of this veracious incident was related, with the assertion + of the Padre that the secret which was thus mysteriously snatched from his + possession was nothing more than the discovery of gold, years since, by + the runaway sailors from the expedition of Sir Francis Drake. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0149"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + THE DEVIL AND THE BROKER + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + A MEDIAEVAL LEGEND + </div> + <p> + The church clocks in San Francisco were striking ten. The Devil, who had + been flying over the city that evening, just then alighted on the roof of + a church near the corner of Bush and Montgomery streets. It will be + perceived that the popular belief that the Devil avoids holy edifices, and + vanishes at the sound of a credo or paternoster, is long since exploded. + Indeed, modern skepticism asserts that he is not averse to these orthodox + discourses, which particularly bear reference to himself, and in a measure + recognize his power and importance. + </p> + <p> + I am inclined to think, however, that his choice of a resting-place was a + good deal influenced by its contiguity to a populous thoroughfare. When he + was comfortably seated, he began pulling out the joints of a small rod + which he held in his hand, and which presently proved to be an + extraordinary fishing-pole, with a telescopic adjustment that permitted + its protraction to a marvelous extent. Affixing a line thereto, he + selected a fly of a particular pattern from a small box which he carried + with him, and, making a skillful cast, threw his line into the very centre + of that living stream which ebbed and flowed through Montgomery Street. + </p> + <p> + Either the people were very virtuous that evening, or the bait was not a + taking one. In vain the Devil whipped the stream at an eddy in front of + the Occidental, or trolled his line into the shadows of the Cosmopolitan; + five minutes passed without even a nibble. “Dear me!” quoth the Devil, + “that’s very singular; one of my most popular flies, too! Why, they’d have + risen by shoals in Broadway or Beacon Street for that. Well, here goes + another.” And fitting a new fly from his well-filled box, he gracefully + recast his line. + </p> + <p> + For a few moments there was every prospect of sport. The line was + continually bobbing and the nibbles were distinct and gratifying. Once or + twice the bait was apparently gorged and carried off to the upper stories + of the hotels, to be digested at leisure. At such times the professional + manner in which the Devil played out his line would have thrilled the + heart of Izaak Walton. But his efforts were unsuccessful; the bait was + invariably carried off without hooking the victim, and the Devil finally + lost his temper. “I’ve heard of these San Franciscans before,” he + muttered. “Wait till I get hold of one, that’s all!” he added + malevolently, as he rebaited his hook. A sharp tug and a wriggle followed + his next trial, and finally, with considerable effort, he landed a portly + two-hundred-pound broker upon the church roof. + </p> + <p> + As the victim lay there gasping, it was evident that the Devil was in no + hurry to remove the hook from his gills; nor did he exhibit in this + delicate operation that courtesy of manner and graceful manipulation which + usually distinguished him. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” he said gruffly, as he grasped the broker by the waistband, “quit + that whining and grunting. Don’t flatter yourself that you’re a prize, + either. I was certain to have had you. It was only a question of time.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not that, my lord, which troubles me,” whined the unfortunate + wretch, as he painfully wriggled his head, “but that I should have been + fooled by such a paltry bait. What will they say of me down there? To have + let ‘bigger things’ go by, and to be taken in by this cheap trick,” he + added, as he groaned and glanced at the fly which the Devil was carefully + rearranging, “is what,—pardon me, my lord,—is what gets me!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the Devil philosophically, “I never caught anybody yet who + didn’t say that; but tell me, ain’t you getting somewhat fastidious down + there? Here is one of my most popular flies, the greenback,” he continued, + exhibiting an emerald-looking insect, which he drew from his box. “This, + so generally considered excellent in election season, has not even been + nibbled at. Perhaps your sagacity, which, in spite of this unfortunate + contretemps, no one can doubt,” added the Devil, with a graceful return to + his usual courtesy, “may explain the reason or suggest a substitute.” + </p> + <p> + The broker glanced at the contents of the box with a supercilious smile. + “Too old-fashioned, my lord,—long ago played out. Yet,” he added, + with a gleam of interest, “for a consideration I might offer something—ahem!—that + would make a taking substitute for these trifles. Give me,” he continued, + in a brisk, business-like way, “a slight percentage and a bonus down, and + I’m your man.” + </p> + <p> + “Name your terms,” said the Devil earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “My liberty and a percentage on all you take, and the thing’s done.” + </p> + <p> + The Devil caressed his tail thoughtfully for a few moments. He was certain + of the broker anyway, and the risk was slight. “Done!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Stay a moment,” said the artful broker. “There are certain contingencies. + Give me your fishing-rod and let me apply the bait myself. It requires a + skillful hand, my lord: even your well-known experience might fail. Leave + me alone for half an hour, and if you have reason to complain of my + success I will forfeit my deposit,—I mean my liberty.” + </p> + <p> + The Devil acceded to his request, bowed, and withdrew. Alighting + gracefully in Montgomery Street, he dropped into Meade & Co.’s + clothing store, where, having completely equipped himself a la mode, he + sallied forth intent on his personal enjoyment. Determining to sink his + professional character, he mingled with the current of human life, and + enjoyed, with that immense capacity for excitement peculiar to his nature, + the whirl, hustle, and feverishness of the people, as a purely aesthetic + gratification unalloyed by the cares of business. What he did that evening + does not belong to our story. We return to the broker, whom we left on the + roof. + </p> + <p> + When he made sure that the Devil had retired, he carefully drew from his + pocketbook a slip of paper and affixed it on the hook. The line had + scarcely reached the current before he felt a bite. The hook was + swallowed. To bring up his victim rapidly, disengage him from the hook, + and reset his line, was the work of a moment. Another bite and the same + result. Another, and another. In a very few minutes the roof was covered + with his panting spoil. The broker could himself distinguish that many of + them were personal friends; nay, some of them were familiar frequenters of + the building on which they were now miserably stranded. That the broker + felt a certain satisfaction in being instrumental in thus misleading his + fellow-brokers no one acquainted with human nature will for a moment + doubt. But a stronger pull on his line caused him to put forth all his + strength and skill. The magic pole bent like a coach-whip. The broker held + firm, assisted by the battlements of the church. Again and again it was + almost wrested from his hand, and again and again he slowly reeled in a + portion of the tightening line. At last, with one mighty effort, he lifted + to the level of the roof a struggling object. A howl like Pandemonium rang + through the air as the broker successfully landed at his feet—the + Devil himself! + </p> + <p> + The two glared fiercely at each other. The broker, perhaps mindful of his + former treatment, evinced no haste to remove the hook from his + antagonist’s jaw. When it was finally accomplished, he asked quietly if + the Devil was satisfied. That gentleman seemed absorbed in the + contemplation of the bait which he had just taken from his mouth. “I am,” + he said finally, “and forgive you; but what do you call this?” + </p> + <p> + “Bend low,” replied the broker, as he buttoned up his coat ready to + depart. The Devil inclined his ear. “I call it WILD CAT!” + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0150"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + THE OGRESS OF SILVER LAND + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + OR + </div> + <p> + THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF PRINCE BADFELLAH AND PRINCE BULLEBOYE + </p> + <p> + In the second year of the reign of the renowned Caliph Lo there dwelt in + Silver Land, adjoining his territory, a certain terrible Ogress. She lived + in the bowels of a dismal mountain, where she was in the habit of + confining such unfortunate travelers as ventured within her domain. The + country for miles around was sterile and barren. In some places it was + covered with a white powder, which was called in the language of the + country Al Ka Li, and was supposed to be the pulverized bones of those who + had perished miserably in her service. + </p> + <p> + In spite of this, every year great numbers of young men devoted themselves + to the service of the Ogress, hoping to become her godsons, and to enjoy + the good fortune which belonged to that privileged class. For these + godsons had no work to perform, neither at the mountain nor elsewhere, but + roamed about the world with credentials of their relationship in their + pockets, which they called stokh, which was stamped with the stamp and + sealed with the seal of the Ogress, and which enabled them at the end of + each moon to draw large quantities of gold and silver from her treasury. + And the wisest and most favored of those godsons were the Princes + Badfellah and Bulleboye. They knew all the secrets of the Ogress, and how + to wheedle and coax her. They were also the favorites of Soopah Intendent, + who was her Lord High Chamberlain and Prime Minister, and who dwelt in + Silver Land. + </p> + <p> + One day, Soopah Intendent said to his servants, “Whan is that which + travels the most surely, the most secretly, and the most swiftly?” + </p> + <p> + And they all answered as one man, “Lightning, my lord, travels the most + surely, the most swiftly, and the most secretly!” + </p> + <p> + Then said Soopah Intendent, “Let Lightning carry this message secretly, + swiftly, and surely to my beloved friends the Princes Badfellah and + Bulleboye, and tell them that their godmother is dying, and bid them seek + some other godmother or sell their stokh ere it becomes <i>badjee</i>,—worthless.” + </p> + <p> + “Bekhesm! On our heads be it!” answered the servants; and they ran to + Lightning with the message, who flew with it to the City by the Sea, and + delivered it, even at that moment, into the hands of the Princes Badfellah + and Bulleboye. + </p> + <p> + Now the Prince Badfellah was a wicked young man; and when he had received + this message he tore his beard and rent his garment and reviled his + godmother and his friend Soopah Intendent. But presently he arose, and + dressed himself in his finest stuffs, and went forth into the bazaars and + among the merchants, capering and dancing as he walked, and crying in a + loud voice, “Oh, happy day! Oh, day worthy to be marked with a white + stone!” + </p> + <p> + This he said cunningly, thinking the merchants and men of the bazaars + would gather about him, which they presently did, and began to question + him: “What news, Then O most worthy and serene Highness? Tell us that we + may make merry too!” + </p> + <p> + Then replied the cunning prince, “Good news, O my brothers, for I have + heard this day that my godmother in Silver Land is well” The merchants, + who were not aware of the substance of the real message, envied him + greatly, and said one to another, “Surely our brother the Prince Badfellah + is favored by Allah above all men;” and they were about to retire, when + the prince checked them, saying, “Tarry for a moment. Here are my + credentials or stokh. The same I will sell you for fifty thousand sequins, + for I have to give a feast to-day, and need much gold. Who will give fifty + thousand?” And he again fell to capering and dancing. But this time the + merchants drew a little apart, and some of the oldest and wisest said, + “What dirt is this which the prince would have us swallow? If his + godmother were well, why should he sell his stokh? Bismillah! The olives + are old and the jar is broken!” When Prince Badfellah perceived them + whispering, his countenance fell, and his knees smote against each other + through fear,—but, dissembling again, he said, “Well, so be it! Lo! + I have much more than shall abide with me, for my days are many and my + wants are few. Say forty thousand sequins for my stokh and let me depart, + in Allah’s name. Who will give forty thousand sequins to become the godson + of such a healthy mother?” And he again fell to capering and dancing, but + not as gayly as before, for his heart was troubled. The merchants, + however, only moved farther away. “Thirty thousand sequins,” cried Prince + Badfellah; but even as he spoke they fled before his face, crying, “His + godmother is dead. Lo! the jackals are defiling her grave. Mashallah! he + has no godmother.” And they sought out Panik, the swift-footed messenger, + and bade him shout through the bazaars that the godmother of Prince + Badfellah was dead. When he heard this, the prince fell upon his face, and + rent his garments, and covered himself with the dust of the marketplace. + As he was sitting thus, a porter passed him with jars of wine on his + shoulders, and the prince begged him to give him a jar, for he was + exceeding thirsty and faint. + </p> + <p> + But the porter said, “What will my lord give me first?” And the prince, in + very bitterness of spirit, said, “Take this,” and handed him his stokh, + and so exchanged it for a jar of wine. + </p> + <p> + Now the Prince Bulleboye was of a different disposition. When he received + the message of Soopah Intendent he bowed his head, and said, “It is the + will of God.” Then he rose, and without speaking a word entered the gates + of his palace. But his wife, the peerless Maree Jahann, perceiving the + gravity of his countenance, said, “Why is my lord cast down and silent? + Why are those rare and priceless pearls, his words, shut up so tightly + between those gorgeous oyster-shells, his lips?” But to this he made no + reply. Thinking further to divert him, she brought her lute into the + chamber and stood before him, and sang the song and danced the dance of + Ben Kotton, which is called Ibrahim’s Daughter, but she could not lift the + veil of sadness from his brow. + </p> + <p> + When she had ceased, the Prince Bulleboye arose and said, “Allah is great, + and what am I, his servant, but the dust of the earth! Lo! this day has my + godmother sickened unto death, and my stokh become as a withered + palm-leaf. Call hither my servants and camel drivers, and the merchants + that have furnished me with stuffs, and the beggars who have feasted at my + table, and bid them take all that is here, for it is mine no longer!” With + these words he buried his face in his mantle and wept aloud. + </p> + <p> + But Maree Jahann, his wife, plucked him by the sleeve. “Prithee, my lord,” + said she, “bethink thee of the Brokah or scrivener who besought thee but + yesterday to share thy stokh with him and gave thee his bond for fifty + thousand sequins.” But the noble Prince Bulleboye, raising his head, said, + “Shall I sell to him for fifty thousand sequins that which I know is not + worth a Soo Markee? For is not all the Brokah’s wealth, even his wife and + children, pledged on that bond? Shall I ruin him to save myself? Allah + forbid! Bather let me eat the salt fish of honest penury than the kabobs + of dishonorable affluence; rather let me wallow in the mire of virtuous + oblivion than repose on the divan of luxurious wickedness!” + </p> + <p> + When the prince had given utterance to this beautiful and edifying + sentiment, a strain of gentle music was heard, and the rear wall of the + apartment, which had been ingeniously constructed like a flat, opened and + discovered the Ogress of Silver Land in the glare of blue fire, seated on + a triumphal car attached to two ropes which were connected with the flies, + in the very act of blessing the unconscious prince. When the walls closed + again without attracting his attention, Prince Bulleboye arose, dressed + himself in his coarsest and cheapest stuffs, and sprinkled ashes on his + head, and in this guise, having embraced his wife, went forth into the + bazaars. In this it will be perceived how differently the good Prince + Bulleboye acted from the wicked Prince Badfellah, who put on his gayest + garments, to simulate and deceive. + </p> + <p> + Now when Prince Bulleboye entered the chief bazaar, where the merchants of + the city were gathered in council, he stood up in his accustomed place, + and all that were there held their breath, for the noble Prince Bulleboye + was much respected. “Let the Brokah whose bond I hold for fifty thousand + sequins stand forth!” said the prince. And the Brokah stood forth from + among the merchants. Then said the prince, “Here is thy bond for fifty + thousand sequins, for which I was to deliver unto thee one half of my + stokh. Know, then, O my brother,—and thou, too, O Aga of the + Brokahs,—that this my stokh which I pledged to thee is worthless. + For my godmother, the Ogress of silver Land, is dying. Thus do I release + thee from thy bond, and from the poverty which might overtake thee, as it + has even me, thy brother, the Prince Bulleboye.” And with that the noble + Prince Bulleboye tore the bond of the Brokah into pieces and scattered it + to the four winds. + </p> + <p> + Now when the Prince tore up the bond there was a great commotion, and some + said, “Surely the Prince Bulleboye is drunken with wine;” and others, “He + is possessed of an evil spirit;” and his friends expostulated with him, + saying, “What thou hast done is not the custom of the bazaars,—behold, + it is not Biz!” But to all the prince answered gravely, “It is right; on + my own head be it!” + </p> + <p> + But the oldest and wisest of the merchants, they who had talked with + Prince Badfellah the same morning, whispered together, and gathered round + the Brokah whose bond the Prince Bulleboye had torn up. “Hark ye,” said + they, “our brother the Prince Bulleboye is cunning as a jackal. What bosh + is this about ruining himself to save thee? Such a thing was never heard + before in the bazaars. It is a trick, O thou mooncalf of a Brokah! Dost + thou not see that he has heard good news from his godmother, the same that + was even now told us by the Prince Badfellah, his confederate, and that he + would destroy thy bond for fifty thousand sequins because his stokh is + worth a hundred thousand! Be not deceived, O too credulous Brokah! for + this that our brother the prince doeth is not in the name of Allah, but of + Biz, the only god known in the bazaars of the city.” + </p> + <p> + When the foolish Brokah heard these things he cried, “Justice, Aga of the + Brokahs,—justice and the fulfillment of my bond! Let the prince + deliver unto me the stokh. Here are my fifty thousand sequins.” But the + prince said, “Have I not told thee that my godmother is dying, and that my + stokh is valueless?” At this the Brokah only clamored the more for justice + and the fulfillment of his bond. Then the Aga of the Brokahs said, “Since + the bond is destroyed, behold thou hast no claim. Go thy ways!” But the + Brokah again cried, “Justice, my lord Aga! Behold, I offer the prince + seventy thousand sequins for his stokh!” But the prince said, “It is not + worth one sequin!” Then the Aga said, “Bismillah! I cannot understand + this. Whether thy godmother be dead, or dying, or immortal, does not seem + to signify. Therefore, O prince, by the laws of Biz and Allah, though art + released. Give the Brokah thy stokh for seventy thousand sequins, and bid + him depart in peace. On his own head be it!” When the prince heard this + command, he handed the stokh to the Brokah, who counted out to him seventy + thousand sequins. But the heart of the virtuous prince did not rejoice, + nor did the Brokah when he found his stokh was valueless; but the + merchants lifted their hands in wonder at the sagacity and wisdom of the + famous Prince Bulleboye. For none would believe that it was the law of + Allah that the prince followed, and not the rules of Biz. + </p> + <p> + <a id="2H_4_0151"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class='chapter'><h2> + THE CHRISTMAS GIFT THAT CAME TO RUPERT + </h2></div> + <div class='ph3'> + A STORY FOR LITTLE SOLDIERS + </div> + <p> + It was the Christmas season in California,—a season of falling rain + and springing grasses. There were intervals when, through driving clouds + and flying scud, the sun visited the haggard hills with a miracle, and + death and resurrection were as one, and out of the very throes of decay a + joyous life struggled outward and upward. Even the storms that swept down + the dead leaves nurtured the tender buds that took their places. There + were no episodes of snowy silence; over the quickening fields the farmer’s + ploughshare hard followed the furrows left by the latest rains. Perhaps it + was for this reason that the Christmas evergreens which decorated the + drawing-room took upon themselves a foreign aspect, and offered a weird + contrast to the roses, seen dimly through the windows, as the southwest + wind beat their soft faces against the panes. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said the doctor, drawing his chair closer to the fire, and looking + mildly but firmly at the semicircle of flaxen heads around him, “I want it + distinctly understood before I begin my story, that I am not to be + interrupted by any ridiculous questions. At the first one I shall stop. At + the second, I shall feel it my duty to administer a dose of castor-oil all + round. The boy that moves his legs or arms will be understood to invite + amputation. I have brought my instruments with me, and never allow + pleasure to interfere with my business. Do you promise?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said six small voices simultaneously. The volley was, however, + followed by half a dozen dropping questions. + </p> + <p> + “Silence! Bob, put your feet down, and stop rattling that sword. Flora + shall sit by my side, like a little lady, and be an example to the rest. + Fung Tang shall stay, too, if he likes. Now, turn down the gas a little; + there, that will do—just enough to make the fire look brighter, and + to show off the Christmas candles. Silence, everybody! The boy who cracks + an almond, or breathes too loud over his raisins, will be put out of the + room.” + </p> + <p> + There was a profound silence. Bob laid his sword tenderly aside and nursed + his leg thoughtfully. Flora, after coquettishly adjusting the pockets of + her little apron, put her arm upon the doctor’s shoulder, and permitted + herself to be drawn beside him. Fung Tang, the little heathen page, who + was permitted, on this rare occasion, to share the Christmas revels in the + drawing-room, surveyed the group with a smile that was at once sweet and + philosophical. The light ticking of a French clock on the mantel, + supported by a young shepherdess of bronze complexion and great symmetry + of limb, was the only sound that disturbed the Christmas-like peace of the + apartment,—a peace which held the odors of evergreens, new toys, + cedar boxes, glue, and varnish in a harmonious combination that passed all + understanding. + </p> + <p> + “About four years ago at this time,” began the doctor, “I attended a + course of lectures in a certain city. One of the professors, who was a + sociable, kindly man—though somewhat practical and hard-headed—invited + me to his house on Christmas night. I was very glad to go, as I was + anxious to see one of his sons, who, though only twelve years old, was + said to be very clever. I dare not tell you how many Latin verses this + little fellow could recite, or how many English ones he had composed. In + the first place, you’d want me to repeat them; secondly, I’m not a judge + of poetry—Latin or English. But there were judges who said they were + wonderful for a boy, and everybody predicted a splendid future for him. + Everybody but his father. He shook his head doubtingly whenever it was + mentioned, for, as I have told you, he was a practical, matter-of-fact + man. + </p> + <p> + “There was a pleasant party at the professor’s that night. All the + children of the neighborhood were there, and among them the professor’s + clever son, Rupert, as they called him—a thin little chap, about as + tall as Bobby there, and fair and delicate as Flora by my side. His health + was feeble, his father said; he seldom ran about and played with other + boys—preferring to stay at home and brood over his books, and + compose what he called his verses. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we had a Christmas-tree just like this, and we had been laughing + and talking, calling the names of the children who had presents on the + tree, and everybody was very happy and joyous, when one of the children + suddenly uttered a cry of mingled surprise and hilarity, and said, ‘Here’s + something for Rupert—and what do you think it is?’ + </p> + <p> + “We all guessed. ‘A desk;’ ‘A copy of Milton;’ ‘A gold pen;’ ‘A rhyming + dictionary.’ ‘No? what then?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘A drum!’ + </p> + <p> + “‘A what?’ asked everybody. + </p> + <p> + “‘A drum! with Rupert’s name on it.’ + </p> + <p> + “Sure enough, there it was. A good-sized, bright, new, brass-bound drum, + with a slip of paper on it, with the inscription, ‘For RUPERT.’ + </p> + <p> + “Of course we all laughed, and thought it a good joke. ‘You see you’re to + make a noise in the world, Rupert!’ said one. ‘Here’s parchment for the + poet,’ said another. ‘Rupert’s last work in sheepskin covers,’ said a + third. ‘Give us a classical tune, Rupert,’ said a fourth, and so on. But + Rupert seemed too mortified to speak; he changed color, bit his lips, and + finally burst into a passionate fit of crying and left the room. Then + those who had joked him felt ashamed, and everybody began to ask who had + put the drum there. But no one knew, or, if they did, the unexpected + sympathy awakened for the sensitive boy kept them silent. Even the + servants were called up and questioned, but no one could give any idea + where it came from. And what was still more singular, everybody declared + that up to the moment it was produced, no one had seen it hanging on the + tree. What do I think? Well, I have my own opinion. But no questions! + Enough for you to know that Rupert did not come downstairs again that + night, and the party soon after broke up. + </p> + <p> + “I had almost forgotten those things, for the war of the Rebellion broke + out the next spring, and I was appointed surgeon in one of the new + regiments, and was on my way to the seat of war. But I had to pass through + the city where the professor lived, and there I met him. My first question + was about Rupert. The professor shook his head sadly. ‘He’s not so well’ + he said; ‘he has been declining since last Christmas, when you saw him. A + very strange case,’ he added, giving it a long Latin name, ‘a very + singular case. But go and see him yourself’ he urged; ‘it may distract his + mind and do him good.’ + </p> + <p> + “I went accordingly to the professor’s house, and found Rupert lying on a + sofa propped up with pillows. Around him were scattered his books, and, + what seemed in singular contrast, that drum I told you about was hanging + on a nail just above his head. His face was thin and wasted; there was a + red spot on either cheek, and his eyes were very bright and widely opened. + He was glad to see me, and when I told him where I was going, he asked a + thousand questions about the war. I thought I had thoroughly diverted his + mind from its sick and languid fancies, when he suddenly grasped my hand + and drew me towards him. + </p> + <p> + “‘Doctor,’ said he, in a low whisper, ‘you won’t laugh at me if I tell you + something?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘No, certainly not,’ I said. + </p> + <p> + “‘You remember that drum?’ he said, pointing to the glittering toy that + hung against the wall. ‘You know, too, how it came to me. A few weeks + after Christmas I was lying half asleep here, and the drum was hanging on + the wall, when suddenly I heard it beaten; at first low and slowly, then + faster and louder, until its rolling filled the house. In the middle of + the night I heard it again. I did not dare to tell anybody about it, but I + have heard it every night ever since.’ + </p> + <p> + “He paused and looked anxiously in my face. ‘Sometimes,’ he continued, ‘it + is played softly, sometimes loudly, but always quickening to a long roll, + so loud and alarming that I have looked to see people coming into my room + to ask what was the matter. But I think, doctor—I think,’ he + repeated slowly, looking up with painful interest into my face, ‘that no + one hears it but myself.’ + </p> + <p> + “I thought so, too, but I asked him if he had heard it at any other time. + </p> + <p> + “‘Once or twice in the daytime,’ he replied, ‘when I have been reading or + writing; then very loudly, as though it were angry, and tried in that way + to attract my attention away from my books.’ + </p> + <p> + “I looked into his face and placed my hand upon his pulse. His eyes were + very bright and his pulse a little flurried and quick. I then tried to + explain to him that he was very weak, and that his senses were very acute, + as most weak people’s are; and how that when he read, or grew interested + and excited, or when he was tired at night, the throbbing of a big artery + made the beating sound he heard. He listened to me with a sad smile of + unbelief, but thanked me, and in a little while I went away. But as I was + going downstairs I met the professor. I gave him my opinion of the case—well, + no matter what it was. + </p> + <p> + “‘He wants fresh air and exercise’ said the professor, ‘and some practical + experience of life, sir.’ The professor was not a bad man, but he was a + little worried and impatient, and thought—as clever people are apt + to think—that things which he didn’t understand were either silly or + improper. + </p> + <p> + “I left the city that very day, and in the excitement of battlefields and + hospitals I forgot all about little Rupert, nor did I hear of him again, + until one day, meeting an old classmate in the army, who had known the + professor, he told me that Rupert had become quite insane, and that in one + of his paroxysms he had escaped from the house, and as he had never been + found, it was feared that he had fallen into the river and was drowned. I + was terribly shocked for the moment, as you may imagine; but, dear me, I + was living just then among scenes as terrible and shocking, and I had + little time to spare to mourn over poor Rupert. + </p> + <p> + “It was not long after receiving this intelligence that we had a terrible + battle, in which a portion of our army was slaughtered. I was detached + from my brigade to ride over to the battlefield and assist the surgeons of + the beaten division, who had more on their hands than they could attend + to. When I reached the barn that served for a temporary hospital, I went + at once to work. Ah! Bob,” said the doctor thoughtfully, taking the bright + sword from the hands of the half-frightened Bob, and holding it gravely + before him, “these pretty playthings are symbols of cruel, ugly + realities.” + </p> + <p> + “I turned to a tall, stout Vermonter,” he continued, very slowly, tracing + a pattern on the rug with the point of the scabbard, “who was badly + wounded in both thighs, but he held up his hands and begged me to help + others first who needed it more than he. I did not at first heed his + request, for this kind of unselfishness was very common in the army; but + he went on, ‘For God’s sake, doctor, leave me here; there is a drummer boy + of our regiment—a mere child—dying, if he isn’t dead now. Go + and see him first. He lies over there. He saved more than one life. He was + at his post in the panic of this morning, and saved the honor of the + regiment.’ I was so much more impressed by the man’s manner than by the + substance of his speech, which was, however, corroborated by the other + poor fellows stretched around me, that I passed over to where the drummer + lay, with his drum beside him. I gave one glance at his face—and—yes, + Bob—yes, my children—it <i>was</i> Rupert. + </p> + <p> + “Well! well! it needed not the chalked cross which my brother surgeons had + left upon the rough board whereon he lay to show how urgent was the relief + he sought; it needed not the prophetic words of the Vermonter, nor the + damp that mingled with the brown curls that clung to his pale forehead, to + show how hopeless it was now. I called him by name. He opened his eyes—larger, + I thought, in the new vision that was beginning to dawn upon him—and + recognized me. He whispered, ‘I’m glad you are come, but I don’t think you + can do me any good.’ + </p> + <p> + “I could not tell him a lie. I could not say anything. I only pressed his + hand in mine as he went on. + </p> + <p> + “‘But you will see father, and ask him to forgive me. Nobody is to blame + but myself. It was a long time before I understood why the drum came to me + that Christmas night, and why it kept calling to me every night, and what + it said. I know it now. The work is done, and I am content. Tell father it + is better as it is. I should have lived only to worry and perplex him, and + something in me tells me this is right.’ + </p> + <p> + “He lay still for a moment, and then grasping my hand, said,— + </p> + <p> + “‘Hark!’ + </p> + <p> + “I listened, but heard nothing but the suppressed moans of the wounded men + around me. ‘The drum’ he said faintly; ‘don’t you hear it?—the drum + is calling me.’ + </p> + <p> + “He reached out his arm to where it lay, as though he would embrace it. + </p> + <p> + “‘Listen’—he went on—‘it’s the reveille. There are the ranks + drawn up in review. Don’t you see the sunlight flash down the long line of + bayonets? Their faces are shining—they present arms—there + comes the General—but his face I cannot look at for the glory round + his head. He sees me; he smiles, it is’—and with a name upon his + lips that he had learned long ago, he stretched himself wearily upon the + planks and lay quite still. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all. + </p> + <p> + “No questions now—never mind what became of the drum. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s that sniveling? + </p> + <p> + “Bless my soul! where’s my pill-box?” + </p> + <p> + THE END + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF BRET HARTE ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 6373-h.htm or 6373-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/7/6373/</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following +the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use +of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for +copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very +easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation +of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project +Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may +do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected +by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark +license, especially commercial redistribution. +</div> + +<div style='margin:0.83em 0; font-size:1.1em; text-align:center'>START: FULL LICENSE<br /> +<span style='font-size:smaller'>THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE<br /> +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK</span> +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full +Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at +www.gutenberg.org/license. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or +destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your +possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a +Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound +by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person +or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this +agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ +electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the +Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection +of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual +works in the collection are in the public domain in the United +States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the +United States and you are located in the United States, we do not +claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, +displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as +all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope +that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting +free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ +works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the +Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily +comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the +same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when +you share it without charge with others. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are +in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, +check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this +agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, +distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any +other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no +representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any +country other than the United States. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other +immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear +prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work +on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, +performed, viewed, copied or distributed: +</div> + +<blockquote> + <div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> + This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most + other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you + are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws + of the country where you are located before using this eBook. + </div> +</blockquote> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is +derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not +contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the +copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in +the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are +redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply +either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or +obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ +trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any +additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms +will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works +posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the +beginning of this work. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg™ License. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including +any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access +to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format +other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official +version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website +(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense +to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means +of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain +Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the +full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works +provided that: +</div> + +<div style='margin-left:0.7em;'> + <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> + • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed + to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has + agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid + within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are + legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty + payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in + Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation.” + </div> + + <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> + • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by email) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ + License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all + copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue + all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ + works. + </div> + + <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> + • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of + any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of + receipt of the work. + </div> + + <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> + • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works. + </div> +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project +Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than +are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing +from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of +the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set +forth in Section 3 below. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project +Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ +electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may +contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate +or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or +other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or +cannot be read by your equipment. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium +with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you +with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in +lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person +or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second +opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If +the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing +without further opportunities to fix the problem. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO +OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of +damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement +violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the +agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or +limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or +unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the +remaining provisions. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in +accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the +production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ +electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, +including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of +the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this +or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or +additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any +Defect you cause. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™ +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of +computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It +exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations +from people in all walks of life. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future +generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see +Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by +U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, +Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up +to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website +and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread +public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND +DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state +visit <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/donate/">www.gutenberg.org/donate</a>. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To +donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project +Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be +freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and +distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of +volunteer support. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in +the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Most people start at our website which has the main PG search +facility: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. +</div> + </body> +</html> diff --git a/6373-h/images/cover.jpg b/6373-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4814114 --- /dev/null +++ b/6373-h/images/cover.jpg |
